the end

i'm moving all my blog activity to www.crampland.blogspot.com. (and also myspace)

hope to see you there.

Mothers' Day 09

No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away, oh little darling of mine.
I can't for the life of me
Remember a sadder day
I know they say let it be
But it just don't work out that way.
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again

No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away, oh little darling of mine.

I just can't believe its so,
And though it seems strange to say
I never been laid so low
In such a mysterious way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again

But I would not give you false hope
on this strange and mournful day
When the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away
Oh, oh the mother and child reunion

Is only a motion away
Oh the mother and child reunion
Is only a moment away.


--The great and awesome Mr. Paul Simon

Rage-a-hol

The following quotes are from the great buddhist scholar Shantideva, taken from Anger, by R. Thurman.

Whatever my virtuous deeds may be,
Venerating buddhas, generosity and so on,
Amassed over a thousand aeons--
All are destroyed in a moment of anger.

----

Keeping the mind wounded by anger,
I will never experience peace.
I will have no joy or happiness,
Will lose sleep, writhing with frustration.

----

Anger finds its food in the mental discomfort
I feel, faced with the unwanted happening
And the blocking of what I want to happen;
It then explodes and overwhelms me.

----

I have this strange memory as a child. I came home from school (kindergarten?) and my neighbor and sometimes-babysitter Joanne had created this puzzle or maze for me to follow. She posted arrows and footprints made of brightly colored construction paper with signs leading to where she was in my house. Looking back, I know she probably put some time into it, and that she'd created it just for me. But for no reason at all, I became greatly offended by what I felt was a 'sophomoric' attempt to lull me into playing "connect-the-dots" to my friend. I can't say why. I tore down the signs and recall feeling extremely insulted. I was not disciplined or reprimanded at all, at least not that I can remember. In fact, Joanne appeared completely nonplussed by my rage reaction.

That experience helps me to remember that anger, while very present in my life, seemed to poke its head out at the most inconvenient or nonsensical times. Anger was always part of my way of life. I guess it's one of those things we all grow up with. Expressing it appropriately was (and still is) one of my biggest challenges.

I guess what Shantideva is getting at is that no matter what the root, that anger is no way to live your life. It really screws with your body, brain and ability to relate to the universe around you.

Anger always seemed to have its way of exposing itself through jealousy too. I find it so easy to be jealous of what others have, even if it's simply a (genuine)smile to share or something more complicated, like the body-type I wish I had.

I say no more. I would like to say goodbye to the delusions. It's one thing being piss-poor and getting bossed around by your incapacitated mother at age 32. It doesn't have to be worse. This is all I can do for now.

quietly sick

i doubt what i have is related to any sort of "Swine Flu," but it's certainly no fun and i hope it goes away soon. it's just what i'd call periodic nausea, usually when it's dark outside and all decent people are sleeping or watching network TV or something.

happy cinco de mayo, everyone in all the americas. i am officially a free woman, btw! probation was a learning experience, and it certainly doesn't feel like a whole year has gone by.

i've started a new blog--it kind of prompted me to since i opened a gmail account.

it's been one of those "rain events," i think it's been raining for days. i miss going to the park.

breathe (remember to)

i went to the gym today for the first time. it kind of sucked but i guess i can get used to it. the people were fine, it was the damn treadmill, i think it was trying to eject me or something. i sweated through my t-shirt and tried to stay hydrated...now i'm exhausted and am wishing the clothes would hang themselves up.

i'm hoping for a beautiful life someday.

might as well JUMP!

(...go 'head and jump.)


i'm so lucky that this internet-land allows me to post a journally-newsy-poemy-complainy-type thing that stays around, and doesn't GO anywhere! holding a pen gives you a cramp, but this...there's nothing like it. and i wanna say "thank you" to um, whomever maintains this sort of thing for us non-linear thinkers who refuse to make time for, uh, "programming." (i barely passed C++ and feel a bit nostalgic for "GOTO 10" types of humor.)

thanks.

i raise my glass to you.

(not literally, right now. like, later on when i take a sip of something, such as water, cranberry raspberry apple juice that has gotten warm in my mother's car)


blogging has provided me with a reference for personal growth. (this is the brochure-part of things)

ok, it's over now. the brochure.

while a firm believer in adult ADD, i do not know how i would relay information to students-- that is, if i were a teacher, like i was supposed to be. that made no sense.

i mean, "capsules" of information...using more than one of the body's senses. like the ultimate art teacher's grim duty of reading the Vincent VanGogh story to a bunch of kindergarteners, who are probably smarter in every way than the teacher herself. WHAT did i do wrong? WHY didn't the kids care about the part where he sliced his ear off when i'd gone over that part of the book so many times with my co-op teacher..."SHOULD I??? SHOULDN'T I???! MENTAL ILLNESS?? FLOWERS???? DUDE WITH RED HAIR AND A BEARD??? WHAT MATTERS HERE? WHAT is the
CULTURAL YUM-YUM?"





yes, i failed out of student teaching. i'm not sure why this is coming up now.




somehow i think i i i i i i i iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii knew that iiiii'd never "pass." it's very easy to want to blame someone else. it was one of my many colorful and boring nervous-breakdowns.

anyway, i got the diploma. and things have changed since 2000, uh?





"The future's open wide..."



Emotions are part of learning, you primitive daumbasses. <----- ?

Seriously. We were never allowed recovery from humiliation in the classroom. Were we? Now were we?



(Wedontneeednoeducationwedontneednothoughtcontrol)




the only problem: i've been charged with 2 misdemeanors. not sure if i'm allowed near a school for seven years.


stay tuned, mofo's.

red game

(this is a work in progress)


peetah czarina is sich agin
peetah czarina is sich, all in?
peeter.

lies in the canopy of stinking pinkish flurry
vines in time with the sinking moss-pits where the
deer would like to

tramp o'er czarina
tramp o'er czarina

tramp o'er her petal bones as she sneeeeeeezesss:

"a'hooo bless youuu."


II


"which one is this, they all seem to have problems,
the girls in this family have
strange-bearn' emblems"

-papa's concern is swampy at best
inside his gryphon's crest and dylan collection


well i enjoy these morphine dreams
just the same as they cleanse my
too-eager, too-ignorant, not-quite adolescent
brain.

what time could it be when it stinks in here of
honey and warm un-pasteurized milk from
who-even-cares?

peter and cyril and beryl and iryl
and nestor and hector and vicky-yoon
play this certain game involving
"funeral of the children"

no, mind the bees

one of those kids got stung when they smoked
from my retired pipe

who-even-cares; milk somebody.
milk something.


czarina's wasting away
and she's more beautiful every day

her bones are so beautiful

today


i'd love to


slide in there


sheets


during cracks



of intermittent fire




sirens





and she's safe




and her fire




is the hearth of starvation

is it ok to talk about depression?

come ON. i know the glass is half-full...i know this intellectually, but sometimes i just don't feel it.

blah.

.
.
.

Starvation Stories (while I prep for the test)

Bud went a-walkin in the forest and met a bear.

Bud said, "Look at you. Too fat to fit inside my sports-car. Ha, ha, ha."

The bear just stared back blankly at Bud, slightly surprised at the little hairless hiker who was supposed to be the bear's prey.

The bear was fat; she weighed a ton or more.

It became the tundra, just then, and the now-white-haired bear was minding her own business with the penguins and the seals and all the other shit that thrived in the cold.

"A-HA!" exclaimed Bud, approaching the wary bear, who was having deja-vu in a bear manner. "I suppose you're in charge of things around here, huh? King of the Tundra? Ha, ha, ha."

The bear blinked slowly, peeling apart the scales on a fish she'd caught earlier. Too apathetic to correct Bud ("Queen" of the Tundra, rather than "King," hypothetically).

"Ridiculous bear." Bud set up camp. He'd paid a lot of money to go adventuring on this side of the world, as opposed to all the Drive-thru Safari's and theme parks. He'd paid a lot of money for his expensive parka and camping gear. He was an unofficial explorer and conqueror, doing his country's dirty work and loving it.

But (polar) bears know little of these Yertle-the-Turtle-type advancements. She went along with the fish deliberately with her sharp claws, and wondered why the little man found her so ridiculous.

"I didn't have to buy my fur
to survive here," grumbled the bear,
not making eye-contact.
"I'm here because I'm...here...and you have
stumbled upon me (again).
You probably believe your amazing journeys
are worth so much to man-kind;
but for all I care, you might as well
have gone to the Moon instead
and met some Moon-bears or something."


Bud eyed the bear; her fur would make a nice coat, or a sexy new rug for the little lady.
Bud was always lucky, and always happy, and usually smiling too.

"I killed a beast about your size, you know," said Bud to the bear. "Me and my brothers-in-arms shot and killed a buffalo in the middle of the night. We thought it were the enemy; turned out that in the morning, we found the dead buffalo. It was a female. It was pregnant. Me and my boys split its hide up and ate the insides."

The bear yawned.

"So...ha...do you see? Do you SEE the beast in my eyes???" implored Bud, feeling his most heroic.

The bear took a last bite of fish and dove into the water.
The otters and sea-lions and seals and walri (?) went about their yelping gossip and meals. The penguins padded their organizations through the snow banks.

Days went on. Bud got a fever, froze his ass off, realized he was going to die alone, and went insane.


He begged the bear to eat him.

judy/point: simple.

"It's getting to the point
where I'm no fun anymore,
I am sorry.

Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud,
I am lonely."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



"They say the sea turns so dark that
You know it's time, you see the sign
They say the point demons guard is
An ocean grave, for all the brave,
Was it you that said, 'How long, how long,
How long to the point of know return?'"

budgies in love

i really need this surgery.

it is ridiculous how people are treating me b/c i have "minimal" insurance.

i will not slip through the cracks! i need to be on this earth with as little pain or worry as possible!

while there is no cure for Crohn's, and the only way to maintain it is to get an invasive series of tests, the "ventral hernia" is real, and it needs to be taken out. not because i am a fantastic, thrilling person...not because i am a hypochondriac, or "addicted" to surgery (some people are).

someone is going to take it out of me. i will not wait 6 months b/c i have medicaid.

it's going to happen.

i thought the hard part would be recovering...but i realize that just getting these human-mechanics to value my life is even harder.

and some would say: "there's a lot of people out there who are sicker than you." how astringently smug.



i mean, thanks g-d for holding off on the other diseases for a little while. i respect everyone's individual complaints but this is my body, my issues, my complaints, my need for comfort, support, and attention (medical and non).

my life is not a throwaway.

I AM NOT DISPOSABLE. the physical challenges are enough, and the mental challenges are overwhelming. how could it be that people are getting botox & breast augmentation at this very moment in Philadelphia?

and most of all, i love you because you're crazy

i love you when you cry,
even though you're in pain
you look so beautiful
and you hardly make a sound

and if you do make a sound
you go off by yourself
gracefully, regemented;
it's like a child.

i love you when you walk
and when you run:
it's a victory!
if only you could see
how perfect
you are
when you travel
alone,
on your own.


i love you when you try
to meditate, or concentrate
and let your breaths
take over;
even if you feel clumsy...
it's just right.
know this, i am with you: don't
give up.


i love your little soft hands

i love your face
(especially when
you have the zits)

i love your lips
particularly when you're putting
balm or rouge on them
and smacking 'em together

i love it that you made it
past your life-expectancy
(21)
and furthermore i love the scar on your belly.


your most meaningful moments:
when you graduated high school
and college
when you got a job that you liked
and excelled in it




and most of all, i love you because you are crazy.

here's why:
the world needs your insight
the world needs your divergence
you have the *moxy* to be yourself
and men see it, and women see it

*and you know right from wrong,
and take your medicine.*

you've always had the guts to be yourself
even if you were miserable or fearful
or just alone and feeling freakish

you've been sick as hell

you're brave as hell

you're smarter than the average weirdo.

you're cute, you're damn pretty enough


you deserve a life less ordinary
b/c your heart, in all of its travels, its trials and disappointments,
is still big

and i would say it was made of gold
if the jokers nearby would be kind enough
to just let you be, rather than melt you down
with their 'clever torches'
and drug this heart
and poison it
again.

no, you're crazy and that's just perfect.

not just because of your legacy
or the way your feet have long toes

but the way you can feel at home in nature
maneuvering with caution and meaning
in the forest

seeing what you see
hearing what you hear

trusting that gut-sewn-shut
(and soon to be sewn-again! you'll have earned it!)

ever respecting the sky and the universe
not quite finding the derisive joke when everyone else in the room is cracking up

innocence growing, reaching for more awareness

slowly a little woman shapes her code, a stele
a law

i am luckier to know you
and your family treasures you

you're crazy
and that's just as it should be.

because crazies love plants
and love to dance
and rhyme
and sing songs to old people for no reason!

it's safe enough
to come out of your shell, maybe you will again
this year

(the shell comes and goes,
in different spirally shapes
but you
always leave
your mark.)

crazy, crazy, crazy:
spinning "Tumbalalaika"
never afraid to ask questions
that may have never been asked before.

it is your madness
that brings you home:
to entertain, to emote,
to astonish yourself
to find that boy who became the man
to do the minuet with you
for all the world to see

and so the romance:
so much more potent
for the divergent girl.

thank you, then
for being yourself.
you'll be welcomed to many new places
and unbelievably real fantasies
*flanked,
by your friends and family
old and new*

your destiny is as it goes
you are ready to be She

and now that you've shucked the poison leaves
overlaid like bandages on a mummy:

hear this....

"the miracle is here!!

the miracle is me!"

The Infatuant

And though you were only a cellblock away,
I knew I was forbidden to stride long there

So on my knees I mailed my tongue off
to your address,
Though I couldn't lick shut
the envelope or stamp.

Now, it's always night
Since I sold my tongue

For a bunch of fingers
That chatter
Like Teenage Radio



--copyright/ JLR March 19, 2009

turn and face the strange

these are some changes i've observed here around the depersonalization.

-i feel music physically. more physically. it seems to feel me. it finds me and it moves my temperature & blood

-it screams for me. much easier than screaming inside. too metaphorical. it's true though. i don't have to scream when i put on my headphones on.

-i have vertigo, she has vertigo, we now know what vertigo is from a medical-psi-chi standpoint

-i am going to get through this stronger than ever. that's why i let it happen. "you do it to yourself, just you...and that's why it really hurts."



i'm gone. it's fun to do. i feel the dancing coming back. [read: spirit fingers]


i will never shut the fuck up. who's the perp, she's the perp, he's the perp, there has to be a perp, huh. i don't care what you think anymore.



i get what "doll parts" is now

dear courtney love: thank you for being a sister, a friend, thanks for getting through it so i can too, i wish i was in a band like you.

the music is NOT LOUD ENOUGH. IT'S NOT LOUD ENOUGH. I WANT IT LOUDER.

the woman makes demands but not little-girl demands. woman demands are serious. even though child demands seem like life-or-death at the time.

i have an axe. a real ax, that is. not a euphemism for a guitar. it is used to chop wood.

it's an implement, this ax. i want to put it in the car and drive around town through the darkness that is putrid and sodden with my assailant's piss but no.

axe handles. william carlos williams? or was that the red wagon with the chickens? "so much depends on...."



this is who my enemy is: Afterwar.d.: after the battle is over and the dead are in shreads and the bloody bodies are immobilized and crying for their mothers and screaming if they are able to scream, and feeling so cold......i'm one of them... and i'm so terrified that i don't even know whether i'm living or dead. that's when the voice of the enemy wafts so, so close, like a private smell from childhood, and enters without hesitation, intoxicates me and whispers, "I hate you."

my dreams are on fire and you will see me on TV and bleeding upon the red carpet...almost life-like.

thanks especially for the glibness; glib is such a descriptive word, only 4 letters long. "stop that psycho blogger! stop her right...now!"





laxatives, please.


jamie-jam gets through this b/c she's been thru worse. just ask her childhood friends. (they were never ashamed of me, even when i was ashamed of myself.)


good news: i think the welbutrin is making me quit smoking!








and the music says,
"i'd like to change the world...
but i don't know what to do..
so i'll leave it up to you." --10 years after

The Friends That Were My Lies

{VARIOUS LYRIC QUOTATIONS FROM THE "BELLE & SEBASTIAN" BAND PERTAINING TO AND SOOTHING TO BLOG WRITER JAMIE, who hopes she annotated these passably}


"Call me a prophet if you like, It's no secret. You know the world is made for men. You know the world is made for men. You know the world is made for men, Not us." -- from, "We Rule the School," album: Tigermilk (1996)

"It's someone else's turn to go through Hell/Now you can see them come from twenty yards/Yeah you can tell/It's someone else's turn to take a fall/And now you are the one who's strong enough to help them/The one who's strong enough to help them/The one who's strong enough to help them all" --from, "Mary Jo," Tigermilk (1996)

"Hand in hand with the electronic renaissance is the way to go yeah" --from, "Electric Renaissance," Tigermilk (1996)

"'Something's gone wrong,' said the spider to the fly" --from, "Chickfactor," album: The Boy With The Arab Strap (1998*)

"You made me forget my dreams" --from, "You Made Me Forget My Dreams," album: Push Barman to Open Old Wounds (2005)

"They let Lisa go blind, The world was at her feet and she was looking down. They let Lisa go blind, But everyone she knew thought she was beautiful, Only slightly mental. Beautiful, a bit temperamental. Beautiful, only slightly mental...Beautiful."
--from, "Beautiful," album: "Push Barman to Open Old Wounds (2005)




"Wouldn't you like to get away? Kerouac's beckoning with open arms, And open roads of eucalyptus/Westward bound." --from, "La Pastie de la Bourgeoisie": Push Barman (2005)

because you care

"...I'm cut at the root like a weed/Cause there's no one to hear my small story/Just like a woman who walks in the street/I will pay for my life with my body/What price to pay/For bad wisdom?" --suzanne vega

Barbara Kruger Says it Best

help was nearby

i hope that the state i'm in isn't as cute as you think it is.

here i am after a post saying, and i paraphrase: 'all bipolars should be given another chance.' well sure. cool. but there are laws, and just b/c you are sick doesn't mean you're allowed to break them.



it happened during the snowstorm.

my next post will be victorious. or at least not full of such moribund abjection, haha.

i've changed my stance on bipolar affective disorder. every man (or woman) for him(her)self.

The War for Bipolar Disorder

Bipolar disorder. They say only the greats have it. The most talented souls were always the most tortured. Or were they?

Bipolar disorder always directs me to poor old Vincent van Gogh. One of my favourite painters, and a deeply troubled guy. Luckily, he had a brother who never gave up on him and knew when to ask for help.

We were not always this lucky. Even the great Sylvia Plath, under the Bell Jar, had no idea how to ask for help. Do I blame Ted Hughes? Do I blame God? What a terrible tragedy. At least she knew what she was doing...and she was so beautiful.

Bipolars (or Manic Depressives, as the rock 'n roll world knows us) weren't always allowed to express themselves as I am now. While Edgar Allen Poe's words will make me laugh and cry, and move me, and inspire me, I can also gain insight into how the man was tortured, alone, broken-hearted, and beaten down by life.

Bipolars are generally not huggy, kissy people. The ones I've dated take some extreme getting used to. They are not romantics and prefer to give gifts, as opposed to receiving them. Bipolars are always looking to improve their code of ethics, and build upon their bright ideas (without going overboard).

Bipolars dive into religious systems whole-heartedly and are often shifting their beliefs, as they are sometimes disappointed by the dominant ideologies of their time.

Bipolars can (and do) get married. They generally know if they are gay or straight early on in life, but admire the opposite (or same) sex just the same. I would like to believe Bipolar disorder lends itself to great beauty and deep-rooted trust.

Our detractors are many. Why?

1. The catholic church was once very cruel to anyone who acted "funny" or laughed or cried when they weren't supposed to.

2. Jesus wasn't really supposed to come back. Most of the stories that Jesus Freaks tell are so beautiful...but c'mon, who really wants miracles in this day and age? If you saw Jesus walking down the road, would you look the other way? Or would you give him a ride to the 7-11 and buy him a Slurpee?

3. Muslims. I'm not touching Islam with an 11-foot pole. So there.

4. Communists are cool but weren't always friends with the freaks who chose to express their emotions. I would rather hang out with the red-stars than not, but once upon a time, Communists were violent and cruel.

The big problem is mental health care in this country. Instead of empowering us to work together to improve in-patient treatment facilities, we're always at war with one another. There's a pecking order from the beginning of time that invites chaos to our table.

Mental health care is desperately in need of a culture. Whether it be a creativity culture, academics, gaming (on-and-offline), athletics...let's support one another! Let's cheer for our chess champions! Let's paint pretty pictures together! Let's play Operation or UNO until we fall asleep!

Mainly, let's protect each other. There are a lot of creeps out there who feast on the brains of our brothers and sisters...who steal from us and lie to us b/c they want to see us afraid, and paralyzed.

Not every person with a mental disorder belongs on Main Street USA. Some of us cry too much, some of us laugh too much. And then there are those who choose the sickness over anything else. They fight their own renegade-zombie wars and they *don't* know how to ask for help.

Let's teach them that they're not a waste of flesh. Let's let them know that just because they were abused, or they have addiction issues that are catalysts for abuse. Let's tell them how not to abuse their peers, let's give them another chance. Let's give THEM hope, too.

There are some people who cannot be rehabilitated by biofeedback, chair-massages, make-overs, candy bars, sex, cosmopolitans, nor all the riches in the world. And they suicide. Regardless of who we are, the Suicides were the individual's decision. We will not be tortured by suicide. We will not be held hostage b/c of someone else's hair-trigger. We will honor our dead, regardless of race or ethnicity.

Suicide= the perceived lack of love, hope, or the right to a home.

Do not mistake suicidal tendencies for someone thinking, "Ha. I will be dead, and they will all be sorry." It is more than a cry for help. It is the detection of immediate, urgent need for something the person doesn't have. It could be heat, electricity, food, water, friends, a loved one who has passed, or simply even one's misplaced medication.

Some people don't think they should share their country with me. I say I deserve a life. Because I am a friend to those in need...and those in need should stick together.

Can you hear me, Major Tom?

i guess that's the ok. the all-clear. time to leave while i still can. time to bleed it into the bag for someone else-- oh wait, i forgot, they don't want my blood here, in philadelphia. no bloodmobile following THIS patient around, now is there? what, they don't want my eyeballs? everything else is incendiary matter. if they fail. if they don't take the Big One out. so why don't i just stop this forever, stop complaining because god helps those who help themselves, and if you cannot help yourself, you might as well not take up any space here anymore on this blue planet.

goodbye.

It's Just That Simple.

Find Out the Truth About Jamie's Health.

choose 1 (one) of the following:

A. Jamie has tuberculosis and is going to *die* if you don't make a contribution of at least 500 megabucks to your local TB foundation!

B. Jamie has an ovarian cyst.

C. Jamie's cyst has a name, address and phone number.

D. Jamie is a little paranoid and needs some Risperidal.

E. Jamie has officially Busted A Gut, and yes, it hurts.

F. Jamie would rather party like it's 1999 than catch perverts, but it's a living.

and finally,

G. All of the above.


*Winners see their names up in lights*

for those of us who on the mend

--->!!!!EXTRA EXTRA!!!! STALK OR BE STALKED!!!! <---

that's right! fixate yourself on someone you Like and start "thinking about them and touching yourself." (--Divinyls)

peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeace and red cross blood drivesssssssssssssssssssssssss

Must I Repeat Myself?

Must I repeat myself?

Primer

in the toilet, in the sink
in the tummy and in the Pink.

up your nose and up the junction,
down the basement with no good function.

be extra careful when you poke smot:
word is that pleasure gets them hot.

be really wise when you turn 30
cuz the word it out that stalkers are dirty.

they'll lock you up and throw away the key;
[some stalkers wear leather and PVC.]

they want your body and disengage
they suck your fluids, so turn the page.

they'll slip you a roofie and kill yer ma
they colonize crackwhores and open a spa.

they're straight and they're gay and they boast cheap thrills
[but none of them ever resemble mike mills.]

if you go to the city you might see 'em there,
with a samurai sword and a love for despair.

but if you're in country (not unlike me)
i slay one everythyme i sip juice, and pee.


---JLR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, BITCH

instructional videos

not that i've ever been to scotland.

i've promised myself that i'd write a book. i promised myself that i'd write 2 books. i want to go back to cali at least once more before i die. and death is so close i can smell it burning, taste the tiny bones slice into my gums from the sardine, touch it with all these blazing cuts on my fingers, feel it on my cold, gummy tar-skin.

new paragraph.

if you're out there, you know me the best. you know how tempermental i am, and why i am writing about "i" all the time. i am a brain inside a cup, and right now i am taking over this girl's body a la Carrie meets Firestarter. stand back. WAY back. stop banging on the walls. i am a beast. and i will do whatever i can to stay alive.

my dreams were always full of airplane events. yay me. what good did i do anybody by dreaming about something before it happened. and i didn't even dream about the same crash, it was the one in africa or something. i'm sure i'm not the first person and i'm almost certain i'll definitely not be the last person either. i just want to live and teach and learn and dance on my skinny legs. and a whole bunch of other things.

i have a parrot, as you may know. her name is steevie and she's chirping at me right now from downstairs. stop banging on the walls.

"we weren't banging on the walls," he replied. "we were dancing."

oh, ok. well, if i can hear your vioce in my head, what's the use of speaking? what's the use of using my voice for anything, other than an audition, or singing a song using perfect pitch, or harmonizing (as in NOTA! hello? reunion??? instruments??? tour???? fun, fun fun.)

melodrama. there's always going to be that bitch out there who made sure you never made it into any of the drama club photographs in the yearbook.

"with your bright silver frown...you own the town...and i think i need a little poison."

i'm glad i won't be forgotten.

New Years

What I Learned About Life During My New Years' Celebration:

--"AIDS" is now humorous....? Uh...kids?
--I don't drink. I shouldn't drink. I guess I really shouldn't. Except for champagne.
--I don't even want to talk about pot with you. I'll listen, but I have nothing to say.
--My ex hurt me pretty badly.
--Adam and Connie are awesome. They listened when nobody else would.
--My mom apparently has a 'thing' for Nick Cave, too. Hm.
--Kittens are not evil. Not all of them, anyway.
--I MUST, MUST, MUST cut back on cigarettes before something bad happens!

flag

i'm being described as, "...cranky. Ever since you got back from your vacation."

i picked a bad day to quit free-basing.

no, seriously. i was thinking about cutting back on smoking cigarettes for the new year. it's not impossible but it's easier to smoke here than it is to not.

what's more important? a car or a home? how about a winnebago?? it would be for me and my friends.

sorry the sarcasm. (only half-sarcasm this time). my blood is boiling and it takes all the energy i have to be polite. i've researched gratitude up and down and will do it once again. i've marched around the neighborhood in this weather (below 30) and am still not chilled out in the least.

it would be easier, maybe, if i put on an apron and a head-cloth and had everybody call me "Weezy."

still easier, running from the law at 70 mph across state lines, looking for somebody who needs me around.

i'm so sorry i let you down. if you thought i'd be so great by now. at least i didn't go the ted kozinsky route. he went to harvard.

i know everybody else is busy trying to untangle their own lives, but please. i need a little bit of hope. i need to know i will be cared for if i were to go missing. or sick. or booted off the island. i work hard everyday, just to get out of the house.

i am sorry i am empty, and have nothing left to give right now.