wonder if it is possible to stop liking sex.

personally speaking, of course.

ugh.

angels in the dust gone wrinkle it up gone wrinkle it up




i feel sad again. even as i'm typing this shit, it feels too tedious and terrible to go on with it.

it's just so stupid, and i feel i'm being whiny. so i won't even talk about it.

smoked hashish for the first time for reals yesterday. bruce is such an instigator. he wickedly made us take hit after hit. i think i did three or four, and minh was doing terribly at it, so he kept making her do even more just to catch up with me.

it was a terrible, harrowing experience. i thought i was going to die, ladies and gentlemen. there's no sensible way to describe it. it wasn't very poetic. wasn't very noble.

in short, if someone asked me to do it again at a party, i would say no. it put me in a place on the other side of reality. i don't ever want to see that place again until i die. really.

i feel emptied out, like a tin can with pebbles in.

aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh. no, it's not over yet. i don't want it to be over. i don't. but i don't think he understands. i don't think he wants to understand.

i think, most of all, he doesn't see why it's so bad. i see that he thinks i'm being fussy, i'm being silly, and i am taxing his patience.

i just don't see why anyone would want to be with someone who was so mean. and i want him to know that. because i love him, and it's the last thing i would want for him, to be so mean and not know it. because words count, even if he doesn't think so. when our relationship is just so, words are all we have. we don't have enough time and we have too much space for actions to have lasting effect. it's the words that build the bonds, it's the words that carry value.

warm touches fade to memory, but words are fuel to ignite the flame.

i love him. so much that it aches, but i feel sad when i'm with him. i feel sad when i talk to him, because every five minutes is another slight, another impatient insult, another exasperated moan. he hates every little thing now.

he makes me feel like i'm such a terrible person, and I don't know what to say or do about it except go, because i don't want to be where i'm not wanted.

the world is round, else we'd see the end of it. i never saw the end of this.

the jacarandas are blooming, so why is it si gloomie?

uhh. spent more money today.

dad asked how much taking missy to the vet was. i told him it cost 70 dollars, so he ended up giving me like 80 or so which is okay, considering it really cost me some 330 dollars.

sometimes, i'm such a good kid, i just hate myself.

anyway.

went to strip of vintage shops in long beach with the boyfriend, found some interesting things. a gift for the pute, a new wallet that was 10 dollars but is now 5 bucks :D and a dress that cost me a whopping 30 bucks. I KNOW, for a vintage dress, but it was cute.

thing is i have to redo the sleeves since they're tight, but that's easy even i can manage to redo that. me and my fat arms haha.

i also saw a satin varsity jacket like the one the bf has, but smaller, like a chick size one. wanted it so bad to match the boyfriend's, but it was 150 dollars.

the shop i went to is called immani's, it's really cute the clothes are adorable. but vintage being vintage, well, you know. the prices are si cher.

and there's still that dress in the tiki shop that's still waiting for me to lose 20 pounds. i just want a 24 inch waist......... 3 inches to go, piper.

also spent extravagant amount on stuff for my sore and aching feet since it seems i can't wear any shoes that are in any way cute because my toes will start screaming bloody murder. the boyfriend asked why girls buy shoes that they know will hurt them, and i replied that fifty percent of the time i'm blissfully unaware that they would cause any pain. alas. alas. and then the other fifty percent is willful ignorance.

for example, those old-lady t-strap mary janes i had started hurting an hour after i put them on. and i've had them for years! why why why.

anyway, enough about spending.

wanted to draw short comic about poe, him and snails.

i think csulb is infested with snails. honestly. something about the moisture from the top of the hill dripping down to the bottom, meaning more moist environments and more places for snails to be happy. i walked past this giant boulder sitting in a decorative patch of garden and there were at least 60 snails clinging to its underside. and walking past a secluded corner of the computer lab i saw three snails crossing a path, stalk eyes beseeching a safe way across. they're large and healthy there, those calstate sluggers.

they're so fragile, you know, snails. even in their inherent repulsiveness, how can such vulnerable creatures be alive? the slightest weight, the hintest hint of salt, the unassuming footfall of a footman, and they are toasted. and yet they seek paths, and cross roads, and eat people's cabbage. how life moves!

i've got a heart of lead.

anyway i just finished a pretty spectacular fanfic about superman and lex luthor getting it on. it's a really happy sunshiney family story about clark, lex, and their genetically engineered lovechild Kon aka Superboy.

That's not something some poor fanfic writer made up, actually. Superboy is actually a part of the DC Universe, like some bunch of professional writers came together, did a couple lines of the good ol' white and brite and shat this shit out. "Test tube baby created with Lex and Superman's DNA" my ass. It sounds like they worked it backwards. "Lex and Superman have lovechild, how do we make this feasible?????"

I have to send this to Cory, he would shit himself.

It's pretty sexy though.

why am i such a stickler for gay sex? what is it about the tenderness and the gay and the men and the penises (penii?) that get me all warm and fuzzy?

am wondering if i am really a gay man in woman's body, and wouldn't i like a thing to stick into other things.

i've a hollow in this tree.

watching bill o'reilly do antics on youtube. i hate when fundamentalists get together and spout shit. it's one of those cases where you talk so much shit you end up talking shit on yourself. pretty hilarious, and sad. and annoying. too much shouting.

sad sad sad. saaad.

money corrupts, buy a puppy.

so life has been equal parts boring and wonderful, like the birth of a calf in rural Tennessee.

sold 1135 dollars yesterday in facepaints. this is remarkable for several reasons:

a. i did probably over 60-70 facepaints. this means more than 60 kids had parents willing to shell out almost 20 dollars each for a slice of transient and washable happiness. and more glitter than they've ever known. what better metaphor is there to describe the intangibility of our desires than the facepaint? I see parents getting angry over how expensive water is in Disneyland, or how expensive are pickles. But those things are valuable in intrinsic ways. What the fuck does a facepaint give you except maybe fifteen minutes of pure childish glee and then four or five more hours of consciously and carefully trying to get your money's worth?

plastic surgery is probably the next least useful thing on the list for similar reasons.

b. i got paid a 21% cut of 1135 dollars, which, though being a paltry sum in comparison, means I made roughly 29 dollars per hour yesterday.

c. once you hit your first 1000, the company gives you a 100 dollar bonus.

d. my paycheck is going to be fat next week.

e. i'm guilty about being this happy about bullshit.


In other news, I can't get my life together.

Harmony Korine was on Indie 103.1 today, on Joe Escalante's morning show. They waxed poetic about various things, mostly centered around Korine's filmography and his fantastic life.

The interview reminded me of one of Bright Eye's albums in which Conor Oberst stages a radio interview and fucks with the host in his tremulous and neurotic way. I guess both Korine and Oberst have that spring-coil springtime fragility in common. That and crack cocaine.

Korine is at least more coherent than in his interview with David Letterman almost 10 years back, where he is so drugged up he can't even finish sentences.

But I'm glad I caught that interview this morning, it made my day. Definitely seeing Mister Lonely on May 9th.

Got drunk friday night with my favorite cousin and mon frere. Mon frere is already on his way to alcoholism, having previously magicked away all the wine bottles in our household, so he did okay. But me and mike kinda overdid it. we watched darjeeling limited, which is a fun and pretty movie to see drunk.

I threw up on my bed, which is not so fun and pretty. Spent the next two days managing that mess, which is for the most part taken care of.

Mum's in San Jose until tonight, so am funked out about how to manage the household until then.

I need to see Rocky Horror Picture Show. Someone remind me I have that on my desk.

I want a vanilla bean. I want to facepaint ice cream cones. I want things. I want to want something better than things.

Had hideous stomach flu.

The last time I went to the doctor was on January 30, 2008. There on their Reality Scales, I weighed 141.8 lbs.

Saturday, April 5th, 2008, I stepped on that mighty plate and came in at a less hefty but still hefty 136.4 lbs.

141.8
136.4
-------
5.4 lbs lost.

Hooh-Ray! What a feat for the lump.

3 cholos blew kisses at me today while I was at the atm. And me the racist was scared of being robbed. All they wanted to do was me. :[ I oughta be ashamed.

Thinking of writing things down, thinking of really doing them. Thinking of all the lists I have written and have never looked at again. I think I am a thinker, not really a doer. That doing is for others to do, and what I am for is for thinking.

Watched Mr. Magorium's Magical Emporium today at Tiffany's house. What a splendid movie. A bit short, but I guess when it's for kids these days you have to cut things short and put a bunch of sprinkles on it. It had Natalie Portman AND Dustin Hoffman, two things dear to me.

And the monkey. You know the :( monkey. Awwwwwwww monkey.

CLOSURE!

Tiff got into Soka University, which is a school she is v. excited about. :D I am glad for her. In a way she has become like my little sister, of whom I am very secretly protective and boastful. And a bit jealous. I guess I feel kind of like James, in that she is more talented than I am. Like a kind of Russian Doll thing.

Really want to make stuffed animals. Starting off with that treeling. Kind of want to really go to Michael's like now, but will probably end up going tomorrow. Seeing as I have important business to attend to. What time does Michael's open?

How big will the Treeling end up? If I give it to Mr. Durand, will he appreciates it?

I should have a wicker basket of stuffed animals on my dresser. How entertaining! And a red coat rack. And a wood floor. And a ceiling that is..... yellow!

How charming!

Comme c'est curieux comme c'est bizarre.


Martin?

MARTIN?

Lately when I have let my brain go it runs like my dog around the room.

I could have deep v's in any and every color. They are so charmant. Mais si cher.

asdlkfja;kdf

Emmanuel has been sick. It makes me very lonely as he has not had the energy or the stomach to deal with my pining and irascible sadness.

The more I love something the more I fear losing it.

The sad thing is he fell in love with me thinking I was so grown-up. Sorry sunshine, I am a small, needy kitten.

the restroom in the school library is a sauna. a gross fucking sauna. it's humid in there, and i feel i am breathing the warm collective steam of everyone's little shitbowl.

like a dog grooming parlor where the pooches get steambathed. fucking gross.

While in there I wondered if every life is a particular formula, or if every life has its particular forumulas, in which people are variables, in which fate is a constant, and the equation produces various amounts of happiness or hate or sex or what.

the toilet really is a spot for thinky-dinking.

dirty thinking.

even in the two weeks since i have picked up my paycheck, i have managed to spend some 350 dollars. almost. am clinging to thin principles like a dick to a condom.

I want red eyeshadow. Why is this so difficult to get??

Why do I want?

Waited some five hours for the boyfriend to get off work yesterday. he was supposed to get off at four, they kept him till 7. I had already gotten there at 1.

that's more like 6, isn't it?

but it was worth it, to be with him, and to make him a little happier at the end of his day. he worked nearly 12 hours for shit pay. that's like 96 dollars.

God knows if I worked a 12 hour shift at facepainting from 8 to 8 I prolly woulda made 200 or better. It's not fair, dude. I fucking facepaint.

He produces useful service to shitty customers. It really isn't fair.

But anyways I got intimate with the inner workings of the Galleria at Tyler in Riverside. I guess this is a pretty massive mall in Riverside. Judging by the stores in there and the availability and variety of products I'm going to go ahead and say that it's somewhere in between Main Place and South Coast, but definitely closer to Main Place. I probably walked through the mall's two floors four or five times and went into almost all of the stores except the puppy store which smells like a dingy beach restroom and is full of suffocated and half-dead pups nestled in shredded newspaper like broken porcelain figures at the Goodwill.

All in all spent six dollars which is pretty good considering I used to drop eighty dollars at the drop of a hat. Now spending six dollars on a hamburger seems an atrocious price to pay. I like my newfound sense of thrift. It validates me.

Bought a stick of rock candy, pellegrino, and a pair of 9 ft. shoelaces for the Docs Emmanuel bought me. Had no idea that twenty-eyes required such work and such huge amounts of string.

When I get home tonight I shall spend some time making those boots feel loved. Reminds me I have shoe polish and some moleskin left over. Contemplating buying one of those shoe sole things since the soles in mine seem like to blister my feet worse than the road to Golgotha.

I waaaant to see my boyfriend tomoorrroooowwwwww. :[

btw wondering if the human body is like a star or Io, largest moon of Jupiter, in which outer forces affect the inner forces deep inside us and therefore cause the myriad rifts and shifts on our geological planes much like tidal forces from Jupiter cause friction within Io's core and produces volcanic activity on its surface.

Would explain my whiteheads in any case.

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Ggggg. i have a speech to give in half an hour. there is a fleeting hum of trepidation in my belly, which is weird because i am used to speaking in front of large groups of people.

and i am not concerned over the quality of my speeches. it is dangerously good.

payday today. somehow the resolution i made about saving my cashes seems to wither away. :[

o capitalisme! comme c'est magnifique, comme c'est puissante!

at least the boyfriend is letting me pay for his textbook. this will give him some fifty dollars extra so he can buy something else he undoubtedly needs and lets him study harder and better so later he can pay me back with his ease of mind and his love and some burritos.

seriously his situation is making me sad. i want him to be glad and easy again, the way he was when he met me. it seemed that the stability of his job had given him free reign to be as silly and relaxed as he could be. now, some tension, some new problem, some busted bolt or thinning tread on his tires makes him seem so sad and stressed out.

Truthfully, EZ Lube does not pay enough for a kid trying to put his ass through school and manage bills at the same time. I wish he could find a better job, and if that means that I have to pay for some of his shit is an okay possiblity. I could do that.

I mean, if Tom can get paid 13 an hour doing tires at American Tires, then why does Emmanuel have to get paid the bare minimum working 40 hours a week? That's bullshit! :[ i just need things to be better for him. i want my happy monkey.

Had fantastic day today.

First woke up a bit angry at Emmanuel cuz he said something insensitive last night but it wore off by the time I got over to Riverside. We went to Mt. Rubidoux and climbed to the top (which is a hillside stroll compared to the hikes in Yosemite that I remember), and basically had a splendid and sweaty morning. Emmanuel of course had to do something to prove his virility and jumped from one rock to another, lost his balance and nearly fell to his death. :\ His arm got scratched up, the silly goose.

Well, not to his death, but you know.

We ate sandwiches for brunch and napped. Drove back to my house and slept/sexed for an hour while my dad was in the house. I think it thrilled him to be so near death.

Got tacos at the place Casian recommended. Pretty good. Paid in quarters cuz I'm broke as fuck. Drove Emmanuel back to Riverside where I couldn't leave him for an hour.

We talked about any number of topics, but the one that stuck was when we talked about me having sex with other people. I guess he thinks it's inevitable that I would sleep with other people, and that he sort of wanted me to go out and experience other things.

But I still feel that I can't do that to him. Even with his approval or whatever, it just seems too wrong, too selfish, too hurtful. Cuz you know you can say one thing, but when it comes down to it, it will hurt and hurt and.

Found out about summer school in Montreal. Sounds super interesting, kind of want to go for it. It's 1020 dollars for the whole thing not including traveling and spending expenses. There's supposedly a 600 dollar grant but I dunno.

Montreal! Such a fine city, of French and music and beauty and wonder! And I could see Ed? Oh wonders of wonders!

What if Emmanuel could come, and I could tuck him away in a box? He would love the Jazz Festival, I think. Oh wonders! WONDERS! lol.

Been reading up on transfer admissions stuff. I was lying abed the other night thinking, well where am I going? And I realized if I didn't fire off these emails and make these appointments and make these phone calls I would be going nowhere. Making nothing of myself.

Comme c'est rigoreux.

Is that a word? It sounds like it oughta be. Ai.

Hmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMM. HAAAAAMMMM. I exist in a place outside my brain. It seems like everyone accomplishes so much more than I do.

Today lab class was cut short so I decided I wanted to go to Riverside and surprise Emmanuel at work. He seemed very happy to see me :D We had some Del Taco (their tacos are so tasteless but whatever I was hungry and happy so it was ambrosia) and he talked to me about his paper and I made some suggestions. We cuddled awww. I only got to see him for a half hour but it was pretty worth it.

Made it back to school at around 1. Ran into TJ and chatted with her. We planned to meet up again at 3 but I didn't see her. :[ I don't have her number either but I guess I'll chat her up on Facebook.

While I was there I ran into John from Astronomy and we hung out while I was typing out a Geography assignment on Islam. Pretty cool.

After we saw the film on Islam in Geography today I started debating the nature of Islam with this old guy named Dave. He seemed pretty adamant that Islam was a violent faith.

I don't know what kind of point he was trying to make by pointing that out. I mean, no matter what kinds of things you point at Islam, you could turn right around and point it at Christianity.

Violence, I would argue, is not inherent in Islam, and it is not inherent in Christianity. It is inherent in human nature. Religion ought to be something that counteracts those animal instincts of people, raises them up, puts them beyond the simple fight for survival and elevates them to enlightenment for the greater good of the earth and stuff.

But shit don't pan out that way.

Anyway it was a friendly debate and afterwards I shook his hand and asked his name. Walked out to the car with Richard who is terribly clueless about the class. He wants to start some kind of geography study group with Arvin and stuff. I guess that would be okay, except I think I might be the only one who knew shit.

Kinda testifies to the kind of school CSULB is when you only attend class 2/3 of the time and still make the Dean's List. Shit's too easy, I guess. I gotta focus on self-embetterment. That's not a word, but it sounds better than the self-embitterment I put myself through currently.

My laptop crapped out on me too. More shit to handle, more shit to do. Have to jog tomorrow morning. Not so evil a prospect as it used to be.

Had really bizarre dreams last night about people dying and something about work and a very unusual scene in which Jose Ricardo was fingering me. That's kind of frightening because Jose Ricardo while being pretty cool is not the kind of guy I want to date or be fingered by. Bleh.

Anyways I'm rambling. Schwinggg

Shit. I think I just wrenched my back.

I'm only 19! And I can't bend over.. Ahhhhh.

been thinkin maybe the human heart grows cumbersome with time, till we can't turn about without cuffing somebody. i wonder if i can throw off these heavy coats of emotive nada and move through the room nimble and free, loving one and all in naked lightness, innocence.

don't want to hurt anybody. want to have a good opinion of myself but doin' so would mean I am like an eye, lookin' out on the world without lookin back on me. And that's unfair, that's building a tower up of myself. And that's not right, is it?

After I dropped off Catherine, I went to the Walgreens on Chapman and looked at makeup cuz you know, that's what I do. Anyways I spotted this bottle of green nailpolish, the perfectest emerald and realized I had no such color.

When did I hate the color green? I can't believe I never owned such a verdant varnish. Suffice to say at a price of 2 for 3 dollah I had to snatch it along with a blushing work-safe pink.

Pink and green, pink and green, these two colors have fueled me for the night. I have words to say, pictures to draw. I'm all 'spired for the evening darling.

Now if only I could work the crick out of my back. I want to jog tomorrow, shit. Can't hobble along like I'm older than mi madre.

I feel sort of light, like my chest is a breezy bramble of bone, and my heart an ember dangling. Fruitless.

I'll tell you about my day.

Class #1, Cultural Anthropology with Professor Eleanor Cross Harrison. The woman is filled with a kind of quiet passion, the kind you see exuding from dusty antique marvels in an attic. Much of the time though, she is rather incoherent and prone to babbling. It makes me feel kind of sad and guilty for being impatient with her, but there it is. She was saying something about kinship and marriage and incest taboos and exogamy and endogamy, ordinarily very fascinating topics, but man. She might have been recounting her last garage sale haul.

Class#2. Macroeconomics with the professor that could compete with an air horn. Impossible to not pay attention, which I guess is a good thing, and I have some tenuous grip on GDP, etc.

note: am loving how my classes kind of mesh together in a FACT sort of matter. Application of knowledge, et al. In geography, we'll be talking about GDP per capita in Brazil and how increased industrialization in South America is infringing on the lifestyles of the indigenous peoples, and then in cultural anthropology we'll be talking about the indigenous peoples, and so on! Fantasmic.

So at this point, it's after Class #2 and I decide to call Emmanuel's workplace to get a hold of him, because my heart is beating so and I started to cry in Class #2. Waited on the phone for ten minutes only to be told that he didn't pick up the the phone and had left. The slightly exasperated man on the phone tells me he might be back.

I proceed to panic.

I skipped my last class and drove to pick up my paycheck (measly 80 bucks, btw), then rushed to Riverside to Emmanuel's workplace. One of the employees tells me he hasn't come back, sorry ma'am, had been gone for an hour. He asked if I was related to Emmanuel. I said I was his girlfriend.

So I drove to RCC, in vain hope of maybe finding him. I walked through the library where he sometimes goes to do his homework, couldn't find him. At this point, I am a mess. I'm crying, I'm thinking mad thoughts. I cross the street three times thinking I should go back and search more thoroughly. I stop and realize that I'm acting a little bit crazy.

Okay, a lot crazy.

I mean, what kind of crazy girlfriend plot was I brewing? Was I thinking with my breasts or what?

I mean, the asshole slighted me. And here I am sniveling to make amends. Amends for WHAT?

I just. I get so angry. I get so despereately sad. I am. I don't know.

Drove home crying, half passing out from fatigue and crumpled up soggy notepad eyes. Went to the Verizon store to file a claim on my "dropped" phone.

I realized this morning I had thrown it so hard it had struck my digital camera and popped the batteries out of it.

So I came home, ate something cuz I was passing out, and then proceeded to pass out. Slept and cried in turns for about three hours. Talked to nice claims lady on the phone. Getting replacement on Friday.

Proceeded to transfer the photos and videos of Emmanuel and me onto my computer via email.

I love him.

Typing that seemed hard. I hate him sounds easier but more painful. I'm in such a flurry of emotion I can't compose myself.

I want to call a million times in a row.

I want to punch him in the face.

I want to fuck him.

I want to scream, and scream, and carve out an empty space, a bony alcove in my ribcage, and go to sleep there forever.

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.