december

november

scribble

dear mom,

july ju-lies

an excerpt from a typed page & some iphone notes:

25¢

This week I read John Steinbeck's, The Red Pony. It is now one of my favorite stories.

"Then he lay on his back in the grass and looked up at the dumpling summer clouds. By closing one eye and destroying perspective he brought them down within reach so that he could put up his fingers and stroke them. He helped the gentle wind push them down the sky; it seemed to him that they went faster for his help. One fat white cloud he helped clear to the mountain rims and pressed it firmly over, out of sight." (from Part II: The Great Mountains)

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http://www.flickr.com/photos/laurencm/

4tuneately

don't take it too seriously. don't think i'm pledging anything.

quickly i've been taken captive by strong arms; it's brotherly. the kind of thing that makes me feel like i'm part of humankind. something that makes me quit acting tough. a bond thats just enough to make me re-think my thoughts on sexuality.

SO

thanks for being there, thanks for petting my hair.

and thanks for treating my fairly, thanks for barely knowing me.

thanks for taking time to look me square in the face and thanks for making me quit when i'm already wasted.

deities/diets

 half awake, i smelt myself. drawing in long breaths: the scent of my own shampoo, the aroma of my own salty skin. i was just about to fall in love with myself.
answering a telephone call, i broke my silence. the first auditory experience of my day sounded like my own voice. it was dry and it was desperate. "how's it going, brother?"

 we talked for a half an hour. the usual pleasantries turned into a cross-examination of the broom and the vacuum. my god. MY GOD. these are the things that we live for, now. adulthood. isn't it great? drinking until i've got just enough courage to yell at anyone who might offend me. smoking until you smell like a tar pit.
           and fighting!
 sometimes we pretend not to fight. not fighting to declare who is stronger. strength is determined by whoever won't fight. everyone has turned into each other. i can't focus. nobody's touching me. rubbing and scratching, i'll take care of myself this way.
i wanted a protector but i ended up playing father for a young girl. she needed it. i've convinced myself, she needed it. but now she'll be gone again. deemed too crazy to stay at home, they've got her in a hospital. fucking hospitals. hit me so it hurts. nono, hit me so i'm too numb to feel the next hit. hit me so my face breaks. hit me til i'm sent to a hospital. i'll give those doctors a piece of my mind. nobody's sick here. stop prescribing and diagnosing. let it go. let mother nature handle it. those who are weak will die.
i could never be a mother to her. i could never be a mother. i play father like i wanted mine to be.

it's so fucking backwards, isn't it?

whore's shower.

Turning the other cheek, I've found total control. I am more powerful and potent than thou. How much of it is tolerance and how much of it is make-believe? Taking time to listen, I let my voice fall just above a whisper and I turn red. 

My vengeance is failure. Like feeding a black hole, I stood on the edge and watched things turn into no-things. Inside is empty. The doctor told her she's "pink inside". The doctor told me to relax, to talk to someone. Potency is both terrifying and attractive. Considering vasectomies, two men shared vague sex stories. Pulling out. Pulling out. Pulling out.

"Come over and shoot the shit" I'm one of the boys. Shit-talking.

I don't care how I look anymore. I know. Men think we're smart but they still treat us like porcelain.

Twenty forever, a fear of aging. Not afraid of death, afraid of myself. Growing into something like a witch, something like succubus, or a goddess of wrath. 

TERRIBLE and GREAT.

P.I.T.A.

i don't know what i'm doing anymore, but i'll keep doing it. watching old movies, watching twilight zone episodes, listening to oldies, and listening to the sound of walls. i moved again. i'm building a shrine. i inherited a pet snake. skylights, a garage door, a floral couch. i've been thinking. i've been alone. i've had company. i need a permanent solution.

foad

Fighting and fucking (less fucking more fighting).

Throwing up. Shutting up.

'GET EVEN!'

Scared of my own shadow.
Moving May 1st. It's time I get to know myself.

daze/diffuse

just a quick post for the sake of posting. some type & a painting study.

thursday the thirteenth

I bought a typer. I've been typing daily. Sometimes I scan these pages and upload them to a flickr account. Sometimes I don't. Here is a page I typed today. I felt like posting it here would make it more important, I really don't know. It feels good to type. Those little lettered hammers hitting against paper, I have all the power in the world. Mostly I just talk to myself when I type. Some kind of journaling, some kind of soul-searching, some kind of honest-to-god-truth. This page is pretty ugly, content and physical appearance alike. I make mistakes, I use correction tape. I recycle all papers, now. That's something, right?

So here. Enlarge it:

Flight 2087

IN FLIGHT the homes we live in, the buildings we work in, the highways we drive on all seem so small. the smallness reminds me how insignificant they are. in fact, this size seems more accurate to me. my view turns white. the plane is inside a cloud. it's overwhelming. i let my mouth open slowly and sigh even slower. everything is white. the diffused brightness feels like afterlife. i close my eyes and i can stil see the light. a grey spot. the clouds are thin here so whatever's underneath is affecting the color i see. before i boarded the plane i spilt hot coffee on myself. on my sweater & on my pants. my underwear are damp from the spill/ it was uncomfortable at first but now i don't mind it. there is a young boy seated in the row behind me. he's been drawing on a long paper pad with colored pencils since we boarded. i told him "i'm an artist" no, i'm not. i'm a liar. i'm a believer of self-doubt. i'm not what i want to be. the window to the right is white again. nothing but white. a ninety minute flight to california. that's where we all want to be. far away from the white. but it feels great to see nothing. it feels like being blind, maybe better. it's total blankness.