wow, i thought that last post was sure to bring some comments. like, "awwww! puppy!" or, "that is the same exact kind of parrot that you have, jamie!"
well, like green day would say, "i blog alone."
just don't believe what they tend to say about me. that's all i wanted to impart this time. my bf is the most popular guy on the east coast and i'm fading away.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
what is war
oh man, this is going to be a tough one.
war is something we live with every day in Philadelphia. Ironically.
war is one homeless lady stabbing another in LOVE park.
war is gas going up, rent going up, forcing the nuclear family to shift its borders.
war is a mental illness. it's a personal war for stability and an external struggle for acceptance, acknowledgement, survival, and balance on mysterious medications that we only really know by word of mouth.
war is fear. fear of going outside to get the mail. fear of opening one's mouth, fear of raising one's hand to be counted.
war breeds heroes. heroes come in all shapes and sizes. all different uniforms.
war is being under the influence, way too much.
war is silent and loud.
war is closer than you think, sometimes.
war can be romanticized, but is never ever romantic.
war is in my blood. my father is a vietnam veteran. i miss him.
war is the holocaust. can anybody honestly say that it didn't happen??
war is a book in the bookstore where i used to work. war is several books.
war is the opposite of "peace."
war is something we live with every day in Philadelphia. Ironically.
war is one homeless lady stabbing another in LOVE park.
war is gas going up, rent going up, forcing the nuclear family to shift its borders.
war is a mental illness. it's a personal war for stability and an external struggle for acceptance, acknowledgement, survival, and balance on mysterious medications that we only really know by word of mouth.
war is fear. fear of going outside to get the mail. fear of opening one's mouth, fear of raising one's hand to be counted.
war breeds heroes. heroes come in all shapes and sizes. all different uniforms.
war is being under the influence, way too much.
war is silent and loud.
war is closer than you think, sometimes.
war can be romanticized, but is never ever romantic.
war is in my blood. my father is a vietnam veteran. i miss him.
war is the holocaust. can anybody honestly say that it didn't happen??
war is a book in the bookstore where i used to work. war is several books.
war is the opposite of "peace."
Sunday, August 17, 2008
hungry in america
i'm hungry. was totally spoiled with pizza and 2 whopper juniors yesterday, and now i expect him to wrangle us up some dinner. i'm too much.
i'm trying to feed myself with other things like cigarettes and information and music.
not sure about the gas situation today.
"i would like to own your photograph. the angels cry to have your photograph."
is it possible for someone to trigger an unraveling in someone else's mind? what if that unraveling turned into a blessing after years and years of discomfort and bellyaching and stuff? would she recognize me? if she were a knight, which chess piece was i that day, on the other side of the board?
i guess if i could choose, i'd have been a bishop. they're always fun to use and there's often another one to pick up where you left off.
i don't believe i'm so hungry anymore.
our love was always so incestuous. holding hands was like, way too much.
do you need me, old friend? are you counting on me to give you my blessings? i already have. i know you will feed us on that day.
i'm trying to feed myself with other things like cigarettes and information and music.
not sure about the gas situation today.
"i would like to own your photograph. the angels cry to have your photograph."
is it possible for someone to trigger an unraveling in someone else's mind? what if that unraveling turned into a blessing after years and years of discomfort and bellyaching and stuff? would she recognize me? if she were a knight, which chess piece was i that day, on the other side of the board?
i guess if i could choose, i'd have been a bishop. they're always fun to use and there's often another one to pick up where you left off.
i don't believe i'm so hungry anymore.
our love was always so incestuous. holding hands was like, way too much.
do you need me, old friend? are you counting on me to give you my blessings? i already have. i know you will feed us on that day.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Thank You for Reading My Blog, Would You Shake My Hand?
i wish i could get paid to be a psychiatric test-subject. not drugs or clinical trials...just writin and crying sometimes and being way too fucking honest.
how would it be the best: to love, or demonstrate a welcoming disposition?
love, or politik?
(cousin ron, i love you, and vicky and david.)
i am at my wits end. we are on our last box of pasta again, with several packets of ramen noodles and a creature inside me crying, "OUT!"
it took the obvious homosexual route a step further: it were as if there were a woman inside me, being trapped inside, and my flesh is the "closet" i need to come out of. some sort of pupa or something.
i will cry for every last one of you. i will take you all home. it's going to suck a lot, but you know i know what to do....and that i love you.
meanwhile, i WANT eric bogosian.
how would it be the best: to love, or demonstrate a welcoming disposition?
love, or politik?
(cousin ron, i love you, and vicky and david.)
i am at my wits end. we are on our last box of pasta again, with several packets of ramen noodles and a creature inside me crying, "OUT!"
it took the obvious homosexual route a step further: it were as if there were a woman inside me, being trapped inside, and my flesh is the "closet" i need to come out of. some sort of pupa or something.
i will cry for every last one of you. i will take you all home. it's going to suck a lot, but you know i know what to do....and that i love you.
meanwhile, i WANT eric bogosian.
Friday, August 08, 2008
sensitive-artist-type problems on drugs
i painted a painting yesterday, what the fuck. where did the inspiration for that come from? like, the shape looks like a (face/penis/body/tree)! hm, the colour choices are interesting.
no instead it is invisible. less concerning than a photo album. "who are all these people? do they matter to me?"
fuck. shit. art for art's sake, art for artist's sake. why not burn it.
nobody has time for artist, off-the-wall speculation. whose eyes. whose eyes can see me in there, in that second version of "wave" started off as a pretty solid creation, for someone who hasn't painted in over 6 months.
what a luxury. muses, come quickly.
no instead it is invisible. less concerning than a photo album. "who are all these people? do they matter to me?"
fuck. shit. art for art's sake, art for artist's sake. why not burn it.
nobody has time for artist, off-the-wall speculation. whose eyes. whose eyes can see me in there, in that second version of "wave" started off as a pretty solid creation, for someone who hasn't painted in over 6 months.
what a luxury. muses, come quickly.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
this is a robbery
things that are making me bitter right now:
1. facebook. it's bittersweet, really...but mostly bitter. the white upper-middle-class upbringing produced a crop of yuppie parents, who seem to be breeding urgently and furiously as they scatter themselves and the air that they breathe about the united states.
i'm glad they find joy in their own reflections and their miniature flesh-and-blood stanchions of innocence.
of course i can't tell any of them about the devastation. i can't even write about it, because it's a huge joke. i'm talking about MY devastation, that makes me the paranoid space-cadet i am today. my personal devastation, which i am desperately trying to learn from and become more compassionate because of, hopefully.
it might lead me on the fringe again, the fringe that passerby's don't see, won't see, pretend not to see. just tell me to get a job, i dare you.
so yeah, facebook...i guess i'll always be pushing the boundaries of my own morbid curiosity. paint me a picture of your fantastic, wealthy and genetically superior lives. and then, paint me more. and more, until you're fucking exhausted.
(on the plus side, i do have some real friends on there, thank heaven for them...)
2. trying to quit smoking yesterday and suffering awful withdrawal symptoms (worse than before, i swear) after only like, 20 hours clean. how the hell do you DO this??? i'm drooling as i type! (and yes, i've smoked since then. in case you were concerned.)
i think what gets me are people who can bum cigarettes when they drink or when they're around smokers, but don't crave the nicotine when they're alone. it really is an addiction and it makes me sick, and even sicker to know that some rich guy is taking the last dollar from my pocket. why am i PAYING for it? is that just the kicker or what??
3. bitterness itself makes me bitter. sugary-ness makes me bitter, too. i wish i could control my emotions perfectly.
emotional diabetes?
4. i wish i could--and WOULD-- paint. the only thing holding me back is the physicality of opening up my supply box.
the dead don't paint; only the living. i have 2 hands enough, i have arms enough. i even have room (for a couple of weeks). still i feel a little nauseated at the prospect of painting alone, and people seeing me paint and wondering what is wrong with me, and thanking themselves for being normal.
1. facebook. it's bittersweet, really...but mostly bitter. the white upper-middle-class upbringing produced a crop of yuppie parents, who seem to be breeding urgently and furiously as they scatter themselves and the air that they breathe about the united states.
i'm glad they find joy in their own reflections and their miniature flesh-and-blood stanchions of innocence.
of course i can't tell any of them about the devastation. i can't even write about it, because it's a huge joke. i'm talking about MY devastation, that makes me the paranoid space-cadet i am today. my personal devastation, which i am desperately trying to learn from and become more compassionate because of, hopefully.
it might lead me on the fringe again, the fringe that passerby's don't see, won't see, pretend not to see. just tell me to get a job, i dare you.
so yeah, facebook...i guess i'll always be pushing the boundaries of my own morbid curiosity. paint me a picture of your fantastic, wealthy and genetically superior lives. and then, paint me more. and more, until you're fucking exhausted.
(on the plus side, i do have some real friends on there, thank heaven for them...)
2. trying to quit smoking yesterday and suffering awful withdrawal symptoms (worse than before, i swear) after only like, 20 hours clean. how the hell do you DO this??? i'm drooling as i type! (and yes, i've smoked since then. in case you were concerned.)
i think what gets me are people who can bum cigarettes when they drink or when they're around smokers, but don't crave the nicotine when they're alone. it really is an addiction and it makes me sick, and even sicker to know that some rich guy is taking the last dollar from my pocket. why am i PAYING for it? is that just the kicker or what??
3. bitterness itself makes me bitter. sugary-ness makes me bitter, too. i wish i could control my emotions perfectly.
emotional diabetes?
4. i wish i could--and WOULD-- paint. the only thing holding me back is the physicality of opening up my supply box.
the dead don't paint; only the living. i have 2 hands enough, i have arms enough. i even have room (for a couple of weeks). still i feel a little nauseated at the prospect of painting alone, and people seeing me paint and wondering what is wrong with me, and thanking themselves for being normal.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
kiss the gravel
how come some people
get to sleep
through the poverty?
i touch, see, smell, taste
the textures of
non-faith
un-hope
self-pity
pretty soon
i am flagged as a toxin
to somebody else's way of life
in the way.
i went to a viewing today,
he was a delightful artist.
he had a long run.
his creations surrounded us; drawings, paintings, amazing wood work and even furniture.
i thought of each hour that went into the intricate wood joinery, what inspired some of the abstract drawings and paintings. i was thrilled by the photographs lining the room, surrounding the mourners as we made the circuit.
it made me want to stay awake a little longer, i guess. ride out the night (as always) until dawn. speculate what i would like to leave behind, and then precisely how much time i might need to complete these objectives.
minutes, minutes, munching away at life. men seem to understand time better than women. well, that's not true. but men have seriously huge watches sometimes. i have a men's watch now. it's part of my proto-renegade-sociopath rebellion, in addition to my big, gross ear-gauges. you wouldn't believe how many people are grossed out by them. i don't get what the big deal is?
oh well. what's me is me. but i can't stand the "me"-ness of it all! it's like, my ego is soooo clinging to my skin like a nylon stocking...and pretty soon i'm disguised, a stocking on my head, robber-style. what a horrible feeling. breathing through the stinky old screen; constricted by what i've constructed.
this is serious. this is also ongoing.
back to soap scum and water stains. none of which are mine. well, some. and dishes too.
i will be going back to the bathroom pretty soon. i would like to be buried with several rolls of toilet paper.
how does earth become consecrated? what i mean is, how can we account for "sacred" versus "non-sacred?"
get to sleep
through the poverty?
i touch, see, smell, taste
the textures of
non-faith
un-hope
self-pity
pretty soon
i am flagged as a toxin
to somebody else's way of life
in the way.
i went to a viewing today,
he was a delightful artist.
he had a long run.
his creations surrounded us; drawings, paintings, amazing wood work and even furniture.
i thought of each hour that went into the intricate wood joinery, what inspired some of the abstract drawings and paintings. i was thrilled by the photographs lining the room, surrounding the mourners as we made the circuit.
it made me want to stay awake a little longer, i guess. ride out the night (as always) until dawn. speculate what i would like to leave behind, and then precisely how much time i might need to complete these objectives.
minutes, minutes, munching away at life. men seem to understand time better than women. well, that's not true. but men have seriously huge watches sometimes. i have a men's watch now. it's part of my proto-renegade-sociopath rebellion, in addition to my big, gross ear-gauges. you wouldn't believe how many people are grossed out by them. i don't get what the big deal is?
oh well. what's me is me. but i can't stand the "me"-ness of it all! it's like, my ego is soooo clinging to my skin like a nylon stocking...and pretty soon i'm disguised, a stocking on my head, robber-style. what a horrible feeling. breathing through the stinky old screen; constricted by what i've constructed.
this is serious. this is also ongoing.
back to soap scum and water stains. none of which are mine. well, some. and dishes too.
i will be going back to the bathroom pretty soon. i would like to be buried with several rolls of toilet paper.
how does earth become consecrated? what i mean is, how can we account for "sacred" versus "non-sacred?"
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