exhaustion and excitement

My birthday was relatively uneventful. Just some lunches here and a dinner there. But still absolutely wonderful due to my most awesome peoples that i love ever so very much.

home again this thursday.

it makes for fun to only have 3 days in between my home visits but also for exhaustion.

I should be doing homework and instead i'm spacing out on myspace. bad habit.

Here's my food situation: i have nothing to eat in my apartment. like noth-nothing. but i don't feel like going grocery cause i'm gonna leave in two days for 4 days and therefore waste my food. it has been recommended that i go grocery but only go a little bit. but that's SO inconvenient. so... for the next two days i'm surviving on whatever i can scavange here.

another thing: my phone is broken which is like three bits awful on bit irritating.

I feel the colors and set up of this blog is a thousand times more attractive than my other one.

Pass the Night

There have been times where the words of a writer have spoken to my soul. and awakened within me something powerful and natural and entirely myself but nothing like the self i'm aware of. The bed of the letters and the formations of the words have made me both uncomfortable, happy and satisfied. It had awoken within me new hungers and new heartaches.

that nothing else could fill.

I have wept for the loss of a life that was never mine and sometimes was never real.

Books and words have created me and destroyed me.

I long for the something more that my literature has promised me.

There's been a lot of reassesment as of late. and there's been BUNCHES i wanted to bloggerize. but they all came and went and so....

today is tuesday. that's all.

She was a Mermaid

Wanna know a secret? I have these cute little moles on the insides of each thigh. they match each other.

something else? My entire life I didn't want to get married because it seemed so strangely sexist. And then I fell in love and understood. Nature v. nurture. I guess we'll never know.

Adolfo is coming today. He's my favorite. And i'm sad that he's sad at home. But I hope he'll be happy here.

I found a poem by pablo neruda in regards to mermaids:


The Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks
All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death

Being Judgemental

She has this way of baring all of her teeth. like her mouth becomes a rectangle. it makes everyone of her looks look like a nervous smile. She looks so uncomfortable and awkward. and when she manages to keep her ninety degree mouth closed she looks too tight lipped. I feel she's very unattractive.

She has no prettiness or delicacy about her. or any mysteriousness. she isn't even cute. just awkward. But mostly it's her mouth that bothers me. When she talks it looks clumsy. The way her face moves makes me imagine a circus clown purposely and ungracefully tripping all over himself.

and then she tried to grow her hair. and cut it just right to hide it. but it didn't work. not completely, at least. I admit, her hair is cute but somehow her mouth still shines through.

Her ugliness makes me uncomfortable.

Pomegranate Wine

Two separate bodies with definitive lines traverse the mountains
in different directions
Their feet mold to rocks and desert
to meet again at midnight
and commune of one another as if made of bread
and pomegranate wine.

Their skin is cool
with moist lips
and silent bodies.
They taste of sun and sugar.
Or sweet in sweat.
They radiate and evaporate.


____________________________


They have been the creators of distance
of the conversions of meters to miles
of productivity and sustenance.

And they have been the creators of gardens.
And they dig shamelessly through dirt, with mud in between the fingers and always a thirst
searching for the threads of answers
to know whether this is blessing or curse.

They are never together but cannot be apart.
And they travel these starred hills
where spirits lay in waiting
for a God less vindictive.

And they all pray
for a blessing of a curse.

and peacefully
quiet and cautious
like white moon whispers

they begin.

Helpless

I not so secretly hate life.

I hate school. And I hate homework. I hate fucking LA. I hate cars and driving and plastic bags. I hate groceries and i hate cleaning. I hate apartments and elevators and idiot people. I hate the people I see on a daily basis.

I just hate life.


And I don't know what else to do.

I hate LA. I hate life. I hate everyone I know.

Oh yes. very much so.

History

I would erase the blog. start all over sort of thing. but i guess I'm just not that kind of person. one that prefers a clean slate. at least not with things like this.

I told myself for so long that I journal (and blog) because it's like an emotional photograph. I get to snap the picture and there it is. preserved. forever. And in 3 years when we don't remember how awful we looked in that haircut or when we all gather to laugh at nasty old outfits. Or when we want to be sentimental and say "awww. we were there once" the pictures are just there. for open viewing. which has it's drawbacks.

but they're memories nonetheless.

And I can't just erase all these years of exactly what i was feeling or what I was doing in all of these blogs. It's too private. and a lot of the times i'm ashamed of what i've written. but they're there. and with reason.

so that in years to come I can say "hey, I was there once. but I'm not anymore." So i can remember who i was. and reference who i am.

It seems silly to want to remember such bad awful things. But I feel like it's the only way I can really be honest with myself.

Sometimes i still miss you. like taking you off my christmas list. like not hearing that you're happy and wonderful in a world you've made. I'd like to hear that.

Sometimes i still resent you. compare and contrast. and remembering what it was like to be demeaned. I'm glad i don't have you to secretly rejoice when i can't complete something. or to laugh in my face when i make mistakes. I don't miss that.

I guess that's the way things go. Turns out i didn't need you afterall.

but i still hope you're happy. because i never wished you bad.