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A HodgePodge of Want

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Tuesday, November 20th, 2007
4:47 am - Reality's never as good as you imagine it to be
For instance, you might fantasize about murdering your boss, the thrill of pounding his head on the filing cabinet with such impact his nose will leave an imprint on the steel. You can imagine how powerful that would make you feel, like a horse, or a V-8 engine. Imagine your arms, your thin, girlish arms that have only ever been used to support your manual labor-free hands typing on a soft-touch keyboard, capable of such violence. Something inside you released like a leopard, springing out of its cage in the blind light of day. With a snarl! Causing everyone in the vicinity to flee in terror! You will bask in how your coworkers will finally notice you, gaze at you with some sort of respect, or fear, or barely-hidden disdain. Anything, but what you're getting now. Which is, barely meeting your eyes. Almost no acknowledgment. Unless they need something from you, then their voices are laced with sugar, honey, if you were a diabetic you would die.

So, when you look up from your cubicle, from the lines and lines of data you just entered, you notice your boss is walking in your direction. In the short walkway where the filing cabinets are, he is waddling paunch first. You walk quickly towards him, murderous thoughts in your head, a stack of just-in-case folders in your hand. When he is about two feet away, you start seeing the weak fuzz on his head highlighted by the florescent lights. Then you notice the wrinkles on his face, the sheen on his jowls, and the grease stain on his tie. He does not even meet your eye. He is almost close enough to grab, his tie is swinging towards you, look, like it wants you to strangle him. Your arms move imperceptibly forward. Your hand is in front of you, still holding the folders. You reach out, one hand open, he is a foot away, then six inches, then three, then he is gone. He hasn't done anything special, he just passed you. As people tend to do when they walk in the opposite direction...Two people start walking towards each other at time X, where person A starts walking at X m/ hr and person B starts walking at Y m/ hr...

You swivel towards the Mur-Not filing cabinet like you were headed there in the first place. You haven't even dropped the folders. You open the drawer, start filing the folders, which are a little creased where you grasped them hard. That's all the proof you have of your fantasy. All the evidence available. That's all there is. No one will dare convict you on crease basis alone.

Of course nothing happens. Of course he's still alive, and you still work at your shit job. What did you expect?

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Wednesday, December 27th, 2006
2:21 pm

this is your invitation.
Thursday, October 26th, 2006
12:10 am
"Everything will turn out the way you want, if you stop doubting that I love you."

sure it had its faults, but i want to believe in magic.

except this movie doesnt let me believe, in fact it's saying ppl who believe are not going to find happiness in this world.


the science of sleep sucks

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Tuesday, October 24th, 2006
10:56 pm - saves first herself and then the world
a curious melange of the feminine and the masculine. dresses first in loose pants like a boy and tops it off with a pink blouse with a ribbon, or lace. walks with feet aimed straight always, sometimes with a happy bounce, moving the pony tail like a pendulum. and sometimes trudges along as if the whole world was stuffed in the backpack. eyes are deep, from lack of sleep, or from some unknown thought that strangles. once in a while the head would slowly rise from its intense gaze of the pavement, and then would bow again as if telling the world to keep its opinions to itself. other times the head is upright and straightforward, gaze a heliotrope following the orbit of every soul in the street. short and small. doesnt seem to realize how small. fingernails clean and usually cut to workable length. does not bite nails. hair wavy and dark, not too thick, not too long, usually clean and tied back. waist small, hips not child bearing. shoulders and calves round, breasts unremarkable. voice pleasant and clear with an accent that is difficult to pinpoint. face sometimes open though more often aloof. but overall safe-looking. overall unthreatening.

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Sunday, October 22nd, 2006
10:47 pm - things you need to know about me
i had a very delicious chicken roast for dinner that was crispy outside and juicy and salty
i didnt take a shower the whole day
im wearing giant hand me down pants that smell like dog pee
im also wearing a totally rad red belt i found at the salvation army
someone called anarchy al befriended me on myspace because for the longest time i had up a picture of me naked from the waist down on the john and apparently that's very anarchist
i woke up with a tender throat and im going to be sick soon
i was drunk last night but i knew what i was doing. only i didnt care. i was singing hey ya on the street.
i have taken off the stinky pants
im going to take a shower now.

im excited to read foucault's power when i come back

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6:59 pm - things that remind me of christmas
1. roast
2. the smell of pine
3. rod stewart
4. red walls

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Friday, October 20th, 2006
12:58 am
i probably dont need to take the GREs if im going to grad school in canada but...

i am going to vancouver, b.c. i am. i dont care for what, i just want to leave the east for a while, go west, rite, the pet shop boys said so. i am in love with their forestry and if i go to victoria i can even live on an island, i can be island girl. i can take the ferry and wear long trailing scarfs and be cold all the time but wear flip flops anyway.

yeah, im going to b.c. i just thought i'd let you know. i mean how cool would it be for you to know someone who lives in vancouver? very cool.

im excited already.

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Thursday, October 19th, 2006
8:06 pm - peace
they have been constructing this building on liberty street since this summer and theyve almost completed it. it's already my favorite building on the block because on its right side there is this giant round window in the shape of a peace sign. the sills are metal. it's glorious--oh the possibilities! i have this cool idea that it should be a sort of relaxing spa with a blue theme. they will have these one person tile bath tubs filled to the brim of different size blue beads that burst! when they come in contact with your sweat or your specific body heat or something. they look like the burst beads you find in your facial wash or even chewing gum. and they would be different shades and grades of blue and some white and gray: aquamarine, cerulean, sky, navy blue, ash gray, jean grey (haha), light blue fading into almost nothing, and the darkest blue of insistence. and when you lie on it, the feeling is described by one word: "aaaahhhh". it would be like stepping onto a nice warm perfume bath but squishier, gigglier. and you can sleep on it, we'll have special pillows that won't dissolve and you can just melt into the blue beads and be one with the blue beads and then you can become like that window on the right, you can become peace.

also around the building there are these grasses and rushes in bloom in the fall chill. they are so pretty swaying in the breeze and when i touched it, i thought it would be deceptive and actually be spiky but it wasn't at all. it was really soft like a cat's tail. they are pretty too, sort of silvery and yellow on top and dark green in the middle. i want those on the floor like carpet so that when you walk on it it's alive but soft, a living thing. so i guess ppl with allergies can't come into the relaxing spa, so sorry.

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2:43 am
im trying to remember if i skipped any lectures for The Sixties class (history of the sixties) because honestly there are terms here I dont ever remember seeing. i hate this fucking exam bullshit

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Wednesday, October 18th, 2006
10:58 pm - she's not a girl who misses much
im obsessed over this beatles song, happiness is a warm gun. it's like an addiction, i have to hear it every few hours. gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

mother superior jumped the gunnnn

(what does that mean anyway?)

bob dylan was stoked to meet the beatles. he thought they smoked pot and thats why they wrote such great songs. but the beatles never smoked pot--at least not before they met dylan.

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4:30 pm - "damage"
wtf im in despair that i havent written anything worthy these days. i feel burnt and useless like when u suck too fast on the quick butt of the cigarette and u get heat centered on one part of ur lip. i dont want to be crying my heart out--who gives the fuck rite? i hate those ppl. i want steel edginess. i want metal. i read my second michelle tea book it's called rose of no man's land and the main character doesnt really have much of an inner life, i mean she's a homebody like i used to be but she has so much character, i love that. also it made me want to try crystal meth. she glorifies the drug life for sure but i mean im done with the good girl stint, the one where im supposed to follow some stricture about what and what not to do. i was raised a Catholic. i wholeheartedly believed that shit about marrying Jesus and shit--for like, a half day. it seemed so glorious to be wholeheartedly for one thing that youwould marry it. i spout shit like that all the time. like "i love tape so much i want to marry it" when i was obsessed with the idea of keeping myself together through artificial means, to tape me up messily like a porcelain doll u accidentally dropped. see i think that would be a good imagery, if someone can take a picture of that that would be awesome--maybe i will buy one from kiwanis and tape it. my aunt has lots and lots of tape at home, thick masking tape and clear packing tape--a treasury of tape. but anyway. one time my religion teacher (i went to a catholic school, religion did not have to be defined, because all religion is catholic religion) gave this long talk about st. theresa of avila and how she loved jesus. those fucking martyrs knock me out. theyre kind of pathological, i think, special. it has a certain allure for me that scares me. i dont want to be a fucking martyr, i dont want to be a masochist...except i think in some ways, i already am. i know it, and ive been accused of it. and i hate that it might be right. it's nothing overt like cutting or doing excessive drugs. it's more a mental thing. i like thinking bad things because it gives me a special feeling in my chest, like my heart really hurts. i dont know how to describe it, but the thing is im the only person who can make me feel like that. it's delicious. but also--its not a good feeling. its really negative. except i cant seem to stop myself.

also i want to finish reading this book called games ppl play i dont know who i heard it from. but the idea is that we have this need for intimacy that is rooted in infantile needs to be stroked. as we get older and this need is unfulfilled, we sort of sublimate this need through other forms of contact and social interaction such as when someone says hi to u on the street and even when u read about the lives of other ppl in books or something. so all u ppl who read my journals, u just want me to stroke u. hahahah.

i have other things to say, im thinking of them but i dont wnat to write them down because even tho a writer must not be afraid of writing anything down, i do have vulnerabilities--well fuck that. so someone invited me out for friday to take pictures--of what? there is a certain dangerous and exciting prospect that it is of me. naked. how is that for lol> and the thing is im seriously considering it. the thing is tho i have taken all these classes that tell me that for someone to be viewed, painted, photographed means one is speechless, and powerless. everything is a marxist struggle for power. did you know that? yeah, apparently. everythign can be interpreted as the constant struggle for power between the oppressed and oppressor, the powerful and the powerless, the rich and the poor. im sure there's an alternative POV where to allow urself to be photographed in a certain way or somethign is a reversal of hte power grid. in teh same way that dominatrix games is actually about the dominatrix having power over the weak men who pay to be humiliated.

fuck, i think too much.

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Sunday, October 15th, 2006
11:45 pm
im tired all the time at night but i always have stuff to do before i go to sleep. in the mornings i wake up on time, im a good girl.

im alright

it's the worst thing, the thing you cant speak of

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Tuesday, October 10th, 2006
2:19 am - tabemasen: time for a new aesthetic
if it's falling over, give it a kick

i thought i'd go home and get ready for bed at eight. i envisioned myself lying eagle spread on the futon, in the dark. it seemed exactly what i needed, like a cold beer on a hot day. but after i did my ablutions and changed into my sleeping clothes (how odd that we wear clothes just to sleep, in the same way we put on clothes when we head out to meet the world) i couldn't. instead i lay on the carpet and did sit-ups, until my abs felt like spring, until i felt myself weakening. then i faced the venitian blinds and reached for my toes over and over until my legs started shaking and my heart beat furiously. i wasn't sure if my eyes were closed, everything looks exactly the same when the lights are out.

i broke a plastic pen in half.
with my bare hands.
it was extremely satisfying.

no one can stop me from talking, i will never stop saying what i want. no one can stop me from writing, unless i make me.

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Monday, October 9th, 2006
11:40 pm
i like that word bizarre

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11:22 pm - kitelife laughing
on sunday it was blue and light and i flew a kite. franz heard i never did before so he found the one stored in the garage back from when he was five. we brought it out on the driveway and taped all the ripped parts together. it was so grimy and old. it was a plastic one that had a picture of a blue and red airplane and had a frame made of bamboo. he told me, u gotta wear sneakers because you have to run. so i did. we went to the park and i ran pulling it behind me and the kite went bouncing up and down, up and down but it wouldnt fly. there was no breeze. i wanted to stop but he said run, run faster. i ran and a strange wind blew and the kite took flight, it went up and up and up.

it was so nice, it felt like i was the one flying, it felt like i was soaring and i was looking down at all the orange and yellow and golden leaves and waving to them, leaving them behind. franz lit a cigarette and passed another one to me and then when the kite was high enough i took the tip of my cigarette and touched it to the kite string, and then it flew away, untied and free and laughing.

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11:01 pm - monsieur unloveable
he opened his palm and there were tiny purple stars on them. where did you get that, i demanded. from your dress, he said meekly. it was true. i looked behind me and there, on the back of my left thigh was a palm-shaped imprint where stars used to be. wtf did you do? i screamed at him. well, at least i didnt step on you. he pointed to the girl named maria, who wore her hair short and shaved, and black lipstick, and who looked gloomily at the big muddy foot print on the black skirt she was wearing. if you want, mics, he said, you could punch me right now. and so i did. i reared my right fist back, back, back and hit him with all my might right in the middle of his lean face. don't you ever think sometimes, of hitting without hurting? thats what i did. i heard the cruch, maybe my bone or his teeth or both. the blood gushed out like something that came unstuck and then he was screaming, and flailing his arms, and somehow his hand touched his nose and my stars got unstuck from his palm and got stuck in the mess and his face was blood and gore and purple stars, and i loved him then. his blood and mine were mixed on my fist and i loved him because i hurt him and i loved him because he let me hurt him.

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Thursday, October 5th, 2006
1:53 am - This is a true story
My friend Sally, waitress at the Ethiopian restaurant the Blue Nile, told me about a promotional free lunch buffet.

After Japanese class I headed to Jimmy Johns to meet with Franz so we could go together. But—as usually happens when I make dates with people, he didn't show. So at fifteen of the hour I went to Washington and Fifth. There was already a line formed at the entrance, university kids, mods and homely business workers having their afternoon meal.

In ten minutes these fat white people in cheap business suits lined up behind me. The one right after me was the most obnoxious of all. He kept on yelling fat privileged things like, don’t cut in front of the line and look at those people taking their time. When I opened the door he propped it open with his palm and I’m pretty sure deliberately touched my hand. GROSS!

I spied Kevin in line a few people in front of me but he was too far and I couldn't yell out a greeting. Where was Tess? She wasn’t there. It was ten minutes before the hour when I finally reached the entrance. I stood it out because really, all I need is ten minutes to eat a complete meal. It’s one of the skills I learned in college. A tall distinguished looking black man, the maitre d’ I suppose, was letting people in. Kevin was at the buffet table and I was close enough to hail him so I did. This way I got to sit with him at a table instead of by myself at the bar.

Anyway the food was good, three kinds of peas, pink cabbage, yellow cabbage in peas, a chicken dish in yellow sauce (not curry), and a beef dish in red sauce (not pasta sauce). There weren’t any bread or utensils to eat with, but we had no time to wait so we ate. Kevin had lettuce leaves from the salad and we half picked food out with our fingers and half used the leaves as spoons. He’s moved in with Tess, they will soon work at the same office, etc. etc.

After ten minutes, I said goodbye and Kevin said, Oh Yeah, I’m glad I at least helped you go forward in the line a little. Kevin did nothing of the sort. I got to the front of the line all my own. So I said, “No you didn’t. Don’t flatter yourself.” He started laughing.

Before I left I saw John in a white apron. Not John-the-Knight, but John Emma’s John. He refilled my glass. I don't know if he remembers me but I remembered him. I know him. Knowing another person’s name is holding power over them. I know his name, he doesn't know me. I have the upper hand. He spoke and said, I work with Emma that’s how I know her. His breath reeked of tartar and rotting cigarettes. “I said, I didn't hear about this from Emma.” It was true. It was Sally who told me.

You know what I hate? Mothers with those double strollers who block traffic with their hideous progeny. I don’t care if their babies are cute. They're hideous for blocking sidewalk traffic.

God, my feet were wet the whole day. It’s been raining every other day and I’ve been wet every other day and it’s starting to take a toll on my sanity.

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Saturday, September 30th, 2006
9:21 pm - how come i dont cry anumroe?
man, i haven't had wone of those ap[arties where i jsut gotfshitfaced druink and smoked until my lungs hurt, just smokging andd rinking and then going into the bathoorm to look atmyred face in the mirror and the glossy eyes, get hoem tipys walking crookedly --maybe high, maybe afraid that i would throw up at some point on my bede during the night

i smoked a cigarette too quickly and almost had the same feeling tonight i dropp[ed the butt by accident and debagted whether i should just leave it to be found by my aunt, and hten have franz get balmed for it

my last name looks like blamethis cigarette smells of alcholol. maybe it has some. hahahahaha.

hi john i love you

how come i dont cry anumroe?

why cant anyone just ask me how im REALLY doing?

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8:55 pm - magna nimous
i want to be an airplane, empty and steel and big and so, so accommodating. i want to open all my side doors and invite my friends in, let them all in, tell them to come in, jump in, leave all your baggage don't worry, we'll take care of all of it.

come walk the carpeted steel floors, settle in, we'll serve you some warm food and tea, and wine if you like. no, sorry, you cant smoke in here, it's bad for you and besides who needs that artificial lightheadedness when i can take you so high, so far away? forget this world a while, i'll take you up to the clouds, show you the world in a way you've never seen before.

don't be scared of the height, i'm strong, i'll carry you. it might seem like falling, but it's not, you're not, and i won't let you.

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Thursday, September 28th, 2006
2:35 am - goosefeathers
i wish we could wear comfort like goosefeathers, wrap our arms tight and warm with tape, to keep us in check, to hold us together. all the old things i used to do to keep me here don't work no more. why when i am surrounded by so much do i feel like im nowhere at all? i know a lot of people would care if i disappeared. i know this. but still


I'm not trying to cause a fuss
I just wanna make my own fuck-ups
I'm not trying to break your heart
I'm just trying not to fall apart
-pj harvey

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