Friday, April 12, 2002

It's been a bad couple of days. And, if I am to be completely honest, I don't really harbor much hope that today will be any better.

And if I am to be honest, I don't really believe things will get better for a long time. Things have me bogged down right now. I've lost too much recently, and too much has always been wrong, and there are too many things that I have to start improving in the future.

I won't be able to update until next monday, being that next week is- very thankfully, vacation.

I've got a lot to say but not a lot of will to say it. This is pretty much the antithesis of my normal way of life.

Last night I walked to school for a science olympiad awards thing and thought about how, if he had still been alive and I were single, I would have taken a trip out to California this summer, and found Charles Bukowski in all his old man glory, and blown him, in hopes that he'd squeeze another volume out before he died and there'd be a poem about me. I was thinking about how I'd do it- anonymously and silently- just go, find him, arouse him, do it, and leave- or staying to talk afterwards, to milk his mind as well as his appendages. I'm not particularly attracted to Buk, but I would have liked him to write a vaguely degrading tribute to me.

I was thinking about how I would write a story about it. More wonderful erotica subject matter, wasted on a girl who spends all her writing energy with fucking poetry nowadays, if not the even less valuable pit, or personal journal site that slowly withers away.

I am constantly writing prose in my mind. My mind endlessly berraged with thoughts, and most of the time as I walk along, or kiss someone, or do anything where I am not speaking, a story is taking seed. If I wrote down all of my thoughts all of the time, I would have published an enormous collection of books by now. I would have won tons of awards.

If the world knew me, the world would long to know me.

I was thinking yesterday, as well, that suicide, for many people, seems like the ultimate way to become loved.

Let's take me, for example. Whenever I'm having a week I'd rather not be having, which is pretty constant, thoughts of suicide, if passive thoughts, stream through me. What people would think, how people would cry. I am, more than anything, someone who simply wants people to be thinking about her. I've discovered this fundamental truth about me recently and I think it's pretty much the driving theme of my life. (The bell is about to ring to dismiss me from study hall, so I'll be brief) I think, for me, the idea of suicide is appealing because I know it would make so many people think about me.....and so unacceptable because I know, eventually everyone would move on, and I would never be able to make them think about me again. Ever.

But for a lot of people, I think it's a way to be loved. People forgive suicides so many things because they think "I didn't realize he/she was going through so much.", etc. I wish I had time to get into this more, but I don't, so I'm on to creative writing.

On with it.

Wednesday, April 10, 2002

Mentions of one soundtrack, one memory, one person that makes me flinch with the thought of, their face flashing through my brain, someone I don't seem to have the power to acknowledge without part of me curling up in a fetal position seem to have caused a lot of commotion nowadays. And while I have a lot that I should and maybe will explain to people that seem to be affected by this, a lot to say and a lot to figure out, right now there seems to be one thing that takes precedence- This person is not Emily. I will never fight to erase the memory of a friendship, no matter what that person did to me. Not if I ever loved them.

In my opinion, you don't stop loving people you once did. Not if it was real.

On with it.

Monday, April 08, 2002

I think about Jeremey too much. I dreamt about him last night....or the night before. But I think it was last night.

All of his old friends from Lisbon- Jeremy C. and Bobby, probably some other people I can't think of- are going to Orono. I believe he'll be there too. It almost bothers me to think that their relationships with him may get a fresh start, and I've ostensibly lost him forever. Except that they're good people, and I want him to be happy...and he's a good person, and I want him to be happy.

I miss him too much, too often. Or not enough...lately I've been numb to a lot of things...except that damn soundtrack or thoughts of one person who just fucking makes me flinch. Of all the faces in the world that I can remember, there is one I'd really love to completely, completely forget. happen.

None of you, except Jenn, have any idea what that was about...maybe Ricky, too, but I don't think so. Jenn doesn't read this site, anyway, except that she's next to me on the computer typing up Civil Rights Team stuff- another thing I haven't decided whether I miss or not- and peering over from time to time.

Speaking of Jenn, I think she'll agree with me that American Psycho was possibly THE most fucked up movie of all time. Whatever happened to good cinema? (That, right there, was something I wrote simply for the sake of writing. We watched two movies the night we saw American Psycho, the other being Original Sin, and Angelina Jolie and Antonio Banderas naked are both testament to what "good cinema" really means) The movie wasn't a total loss, though. While it's impossible to be as attracted to Christian Bale as his fucked-up lead in psycho as one is as his oh-so-beautiful role in Newsies, he's still got a nice body and he's fucking controlling- I like controlling. He very casually asserts his force over the women he sleeps with and does what he wants with them. That's....I like it.

Also, the carnage was cool. Something about a whole shitload of overly violent, messy deaths makes me root for the bad guy (most of the time). In this case, the bad guy was too confusing to really ROOT for, but I was hoping he'd get in a few more murders. They were....pleasingly graphic. (I'm a sick motherfucker.)

Speaking of violence, in a particularly intense, uh, "kiss" last night, Jeff seems to have permanently fucked up my tooth. His knocked into mine and all throughout band today it felt really tingly whenever I would hold a note. Now breathing through my mouth is producing a similar affect. This does not bode well.....I'm hoping this doesn't last long.

Jenn has been wearing Cody's collar on her wrist apparently for three straight days now. I wore it to school on friday-- it's very stylish-feeling-- but couldn't stand wearing it too long as I'm not used to having things around my wrist. Jenn at some point took it when I put it down, because she was wearing it saturday and continues to today. For some odd reason, I find this strangely endearing.

Jenn is an extension of myself in such a way that she has become, definitively, the person I tell everything to. Our connection, in an emotional way, has only really become prevalent this year, whereas before we were more of a hanging-out only pair. While we still don't spend all our time bitching to each other the way I do with other friends, we both talk more about us than we had previously. I wonder if she genuinely has a concept of what she means to me.

Lunch. On with it.