maybe it just needs to be this way. maybe that's why, instead of a harrowing, painful emptiness i ought to be feeling in my chest i just feel empty. maybe cuz i've already felt those terrible contractions before, and now is the inevitable, the final, the last straw.

i want him to come running to me, holding me, begging me to not go. But he's not that kind of person. And I don't need begging. I need stability. I need happiness. I need someone who doesn't think i'm full of bullshit all the time.

With him I think I feel stupid, insipid, and insubstantial. Why he keeps me around, I don't know. I love him for who he is. What does he love me for?


I am so sad that the insides of me have cooled down and congealed, a flat, calm jelly formed around the perfect shape of my heart. And at the same time my brain is all a'roil.

I won't lie. I thought of suicide, but that was more a dramatic gesture than any kind of seriousness.

Yes, I could very well live without him. i might even be happy. but it's a small chance.

ow. my pussy could be a vice. i hate period cramps. bleh.

In more sanitary (sanitarily sane?) news, the boyfriend is taking me to Build-A-Bear today, so we can finally do one ridiculously cute couple thing since we met.

Possibly to make up for him possibly screwing up my vagina for years to come.

Somewhere inside me I am excited, but I suppose the weather and my uterus is pullin' me down.

Breasts are expanding, and I needs to get a new bra. Unfortunately, the money is not providing.

Dum de du.

Sitting in the CSULB library, typing pretty profane ponderings onto my school's keyboard.

I hate this place, this shithole, this cesspool of idiots. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm one of them, vraiment. Did you know, one of the librarians is a transvestite? With flowing blonde hair and a miniskirt. Tres trashy, if you ask me. If I was a transvestite, I'd deck myself out in the latest rags, none of this "I'm a lady so obviously that means I'll dress like a hooker from the eighties" mess.

I'll make like those Japanese boys and do it right. Pale-faced goddess in Victorian mourning and ridiculously expensive PVC boots.

I will be swathed in the black froth on your dying lips, my dearest. The laciest cobwebs of your inner eye.

You'd think it would be a proper gimmick to have a box of pocky in my pocky bag. But no, pockies are for the free and fat. I am chained to the weight of my sinking self-esteem.

Who am I now, that all I think about is buying and selling? Where is my soul of souls? Somewhere beneath those AA leggings.

i oughta be a stonemason, the way i build walls. i do it so effortlessly it's like i shit bricks to build with.

i haul the ice for this igloo, and have the temerity to complain of the cold.

do i mix my metaphors? i hope i do so finely. i wonder when i will be well. my mind is like so much pond scum, with mud all at the bottom. will lotus buds bud?

emmanuel is the heron, solid and strong, who stands in me, and the clearness of his reflection on my face is all the clarity i posess.

Hello brain. What is your name.

So have been feeling like a torn-up spiderweb, all kinds of everywhere, centerless, repulsive, floating. And he what who made me is either dead or spewing more white shit out of his ass to make more such fragile and transient structures.

Strong as spidersilk surely.

Kinda sad cuz I missed my last class, Geography 100. The class was canceled? but then I checked my email today to learn post facto that we were all to attend a sparkling lecture that day about international human rights in Rwanda.

Sad mostly because now I look like a callous fool uninterested not only in keeping up with the professional and educational aspects of her life but also completely uninterested in what she says she is interested in: human rights. That makes me a hypocrite, or does it make me a bumbling eejit incapable of keeping her life half enough together to even be interested in anything at all?
Hence the esoteric references to spiderwebs and all that rot.

But I have made a grand-scale plan to make conversation heart cookies for one and all me friends today. They will say yummy things like 'chinga tu madre' and 'i love you' and stuff. Is that ambitious enough or should I sue for world peace?

Have always told self to not worry about ambition because it is a scary idea, as if life ought to be lived out in to-do lists.

Gazelle do not have to-do lists. Nor zebras or hippos. Or maybe they do.

1. Eat.
2. Swat flies off buttocks.
3. Roll around in dirt.
4. Zig-zag.
5. Babies.
6. Contribute to circle of life.
7. Bedtime!

Been reading loads of the good ol' G.R.R Martin. Is that like a name template for great fantasy writers or is he just bein' smug? Or is his name really something like George Reynaldo Ruben Martin?

Anyway, it's all fantastically fantastic stuff. I miss the days when I would just be curled up in places where blood and gore were the norm and everybody who was anybody was either extravagantly beautiful or extravagantly strong and everybody sexed each other and nobody got pregnant unless it was a plot device that was well-planned and didn't make you feel like your life was over because you were gonna pop out the prophecy fulfilled or some shit.


Man life in fantastical terms is truly preferred.

But imagine being a lady knight without some monistat and you're all yeasty on the battlefield or something. I imagine boiled leather and flowing brocade can get sweaty.

Brain all swabbed out. Off to Comm 130.

Man it's so fantastically heart wrenching.

I'm so goddam lost I can't even think straight. I'm thinking will he see this will he care wait why should I care what he sees or thinks I'm not scared.

Or aren't I?

Amn't I? Ahhh.

It's begun to feel so lonely. I feel like a cornered animal. I want to be brave and strong and FEMALE about all this, all independent and shit, but ladies and gents I am found on a precipice.

I think I will be one of those who begs to any god at that point. I just want things to be okay between us. I don't know what to do or say anymore.

Everything I do is wrong at this point. And I can't just calm down about it. I feel seven kinds of lonely. I feel my limbs are in different dimensions, my heart in a tinderbox in a volcano at the tip of Mars.

My eyes were so puffy and swolled up this morning, and I had the nerve to spackle on some eyeliner and mascara.

I have no shame.

Everything's blurry. I thought there was an end to all this negative thinking, and all this dependence on the happiness of others.

A better me would become a bitch.

But I just want to be nicer to people.

hmmmm Quoi de neuf?

Sunday was shotgun wedding. I will be forever amused by Chinese/Vietnamese wedding traditions, but this weekend's particular rendition was equal parts heartbreaking and dead boring.

Bad enough my cousin had her baby before the wedding, but the look on her poor father's face during the reception as he had to watch his baby girl get tongued by the evil wretch what planted one in her was just hard to bear. When he came over from Vietnam four years ago or so he looked 40. Today he looks 60.

I'm not gonna go into judgements or whatever. Shit happens, and you gotta make the best of it, you know? But um. I guess I was raised the way I was raised. I couldn't do that to my parents.

Observation: Vietnamese people have this fascination with Latin music. They're always playing the cha cha or some samba or flamenco or something Ricky Martin at their weddings. They just love it. It's like no matter how many synthesized wonders you could come up with on the keyboards, the maracas keep comin' up.

Which I don't get because why, why oh why then do you guys hate Hispanics so damn much? Fuck.

To that end, there are still people who think that Spain is not a part of Europe, but located somewhere near Puerto Rico. I kid you not.

I mean, you learn that stuff in second grade. Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue, found the West Indies in the Americas and then enslaved the indigenous peoples. Kk, he was Portugese, but Portugal's next to Spain and he received his commission in Espagne, and I mean fuck people should just know this shit.

Fuck.

Met up with Catherine for the first time in months. Had dandy old time, talked nonstop about everythings. Went to the Lab, then to H&M, and then to the pier, where we had ice cream (yeah it was freezing but it's the principle) and then went to Target. It was really nice. I haven't felt so delighted in a long time, and I've exhausted myself talking. But it's good. I'm glad I can be there for her to be open and free to talk and stuff.

And I mean, at least she understands what it means to feel helpless and apathetic, to feel like I've lost some inspiration, you know? Emmanuel just.. I dunno. He doesn't understand or want to understand. He wants me to get up and snap out of it.

And fuck knows so do I. But I just can't feel it anymore. I used to be so moved by the world, so pissed off, so incensed by others that I had to shout and breathe words in strings of glimmering poetry and nonsense and song and dialogue, you know? I just had to.

And now even creation has become fabrication, and nothing i do seems to hold merit. instead of shields i forge sieves, instead of swords i make believe.

But lately I have started to get pissed again, started to care again. It's slow, but I'm getting there, I think.

but sometimes, i'm scared that emmanuel doesn't see this, doesn't want to hear this. that i am getting better again. i'm scared that by the time i get it to him he'll be gone. i don't know.

sometimes i get too tired to cry, and when it comes to emmanuel either i'm tired or i'm crying. fuck we used to be so happy. how come when i look at him i feel so glad inside but there's always something we have to fight about, something he says that gets me quiet and sad and so perturbed i just have to start crying and making everything bad again?

either i'm tired or i'm crying. honestly.

Had unexciting day at college today. I have an acute fear that it's feeling more like high school with each passing class. Just more isolated. Calstate Long Beach is like the largest community college in the state of California. It feels as substandard, as exhaustive and lonesome. The traffic, the abnormal number of idiots on campus, all that stuff. Makes me sad. The few acquaintances I've made keep my day kind of bright, but I guess by the end of the day I find myself searching for excuses to leave.

I just feel alone, and when I'm with people I feel unable to connect with them. Ahhh fuck oh well. I had gyoza today. Yummy gyoza.

Am becoming unhealthily obsessed with American Apparel, that wondrous hipster empire with all the well-marketed clothing and stuff. I mean when you get down to it, they make excellent underwear and t-shirts, but everything else is ill-sewn and ill-made. The only good part is the models they use, and the fact that it's all sweatshop-free. But still. I'm as caught up as any liberal arts major with a taste for Arcade Fire and Interpol.

Am also loving how everytime I shop there I feel like a walrus. American Apparel realizes that hipsters come in different sizes and they try their best to accommodate them. Too bad real hipsters come in svelte, skinny, and stick-thin. I'm a large in everything.

It's like having tits and ass is now some kind of terrible burden. It's no longer beautiful, it's just... utilitarian. Like a camel's hump. Oh wonderful, you can feed babies. Oh, you can survive in the desert longer than I can. Like all a bra is good for now is for storing tissue and money and gumballs.

I think the idea is that women no longer look to fashion as a way to feel sensuous or to be inspired by ways to enhance and flaunt their bodies. In a world ruled by sterile European metropolises, fashion has become this cultureless, bodiless cycle of fads and "cultural nods" and constant spinoffs of the same shitty black leggings and tunics. It's a nod to the eighties, it's a nod to the 16th century, whatever.

Whatever happened to the woman's body? I'm not one to say I like a body all rolly-polly, but what happened to curves? I had a good friend who always criticized the way I drew women because all my girls had thighs and breasts and big butts. He thought they were too fat. "Women look like that," I urged. For centuries, they've looked like that. And I mean they've been corseted and padded and caged, but the woman, ungirdled, unclothed, set upon some chaise all naked and waxing like a full moon-- has always looked like the rolling landscape of heaven.

And if you're just Asian and super-thin and wear a 00 even if you eat eight happy meals a day, then fuckin' power to you, you magic wand, you shaft of silver yew. Power to ya.

But anyhow, starving models are an insult to starving babies all over the world. I'm just saying.

I miss Heroes.

Shit I suppose I should doll this up.

uh.

Fuck. It's like I made a kid and then abandoned him, only to return years later with a box of Cracker Jacks and a cheap nerf gun, hoping to make amends.

And I am greeted with silence.

Have been excited about Gogol Bordello again, and danced around the room in crazy sweaty Asian fashion while my cat looked on with all the sleepy acceptance of the Virgin Mary. I love you, Shelbycat, for loving me like you does.

Hey.