| old timers |
[23 Aug 2005|07:53pm] |
had a dream last night, the four of us were in an apartment with a red and pink painted door. our apartment. we were drinking and dancing and laughing.
miss y'all.
j.
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| will it all have been worthwhile? |
[15 May 2005|09:19pm] |
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mood |
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reflective |
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music |
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M. Ward |
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oh, i should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across silent seas.
Megan, it is one of my favorite habbits to come by your house even though I know you won't be there and leave you notes. I notice every time you bring your fingernails to your lips, and every time you finger the ends of your hair.
India, I love how when you are very interested/exited/worried/angry/thoughtful and when you speak you knit your eyebrows together a lot or move them up and down. I think of it as your way of scratching a beard, and inviting someone to scratch it with you.
Julia, I love constantly challenge boundaries of physical comfort (running fingers up your thigh), and crawling into bed with you. I layed in bed one morning and read the January poems and they made everything perfect in a slow way like the coming home in evening through moss landing, and walking barefoot on the train tracks in the fall.
things i am thinking of: how in the next few days i would love to welcome skin cancer with open arms, how soon stone fruits will be at the farmers market and we must go and eat apricots until we are sick, how someone will say or do something and it is all i can do to remind myself to close off my heart, how today it rained briefly in the heat and the concrete had that itjustrainedbreiflyintheheat smell. I am angry that we are young and I am hurt that we are old.
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[21 Mar 2005|11:38pm] |
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the despair of finishing a book!
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[09 Mar 2005|08:37am] |
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mood |
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i am a robot |
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music |
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ramones |
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1.) I'm on Little Star's mailing list! I'm not quite sure how he got my info... this might be the result of trying to get him to leave me alone sometime last year when he was trying to get me to use his bike after mine had been stolen and him asking me to go swimming in a stream with him... But really, this is more of a blessing than anything as you can see by an excerpt of the email he sent out:
"feel free to invite friends but not smokers because smokers are manifesting violent toxic demons. vegans are good guys; meat eaters are blood-thirsty vampires. Please remember, all typos are always real words from foreign languages of other planets in Galaxies!" (apparently he is putting on a play)
2.) I just spent 20 hours in the studio. The sun rose over the music center and there was pink fog over all over town. There is still no time to be static. My hands have no skin - at five in the morning, gloves seemed so frivolous for developing van dyke prints...
all of me.
kelly
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| Rereading things |
[04 Mar 2005|12:17am] |
Guess what this is from.
"I can no longer remember their faces, but I can imagine expressions trying to use up a lifetime of love in the last second. No matter the age of the face, at the moment of death a lifetime of emition still unused turns a face young again.
"I was like the men in Athos's stories, who set their courses before the invention of longitude and never quite knew where they were. They looked at the stars and knew they were missing information, terra nullius raising the hair on their necks."
Love, Peg
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| this weekend has left us all angry. |
[27 Feb 2005|07:43pm] |
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mood |
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sunday melancholy |
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music |
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fucking stupid coffee shop jazz |
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this town is far too small.
everyone has fucked everyone. you can connect yourself to having indirectly fucked almost anyone. its usually something to inspire a dry laugh - but right now i feel murderous. maybe thats just too much coffee on an empty stomach. you can't get away with anything and there really isnt anyone left. oh bleak outlook! ultimately bored. missing days of acting without repercussions because youd never see the person again.
i guess that all sounds horrible.
i have this feeling in my stomach, like when you are about to jump into cold water just before its warm enough out to go swimming, and you stand there, leaning over the water thinking about it for too long before taking the plunge.
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| shake your dicks and your tits |
[23 Feb 2005|12:30am] |
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my stomach has hurt all night, and ive vaguely considered death - but megan, cheezits and juice boxes on the beach were the best dinner ever
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[17 Feb 2005|11:57pm] |
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once you make secret livejournal references to crushes...
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| burst capilaries rise to the surface |
[01 Feb 2005|04:07pm] |
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what if i could convert all the sitting around ive been doing into miles? i have sat around for x miles. it takes x miles for me to get anything done. its all a blur riding shotgun with pain killers.
where can we go ice fishing?
megan, we never see you anymore.
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| Such A Dangerous Dream (for kelly) |
[31 Jan 2005|09:51pm] |
"You look good in that sweater
And your aluminum crutch...
Ooh peaches and cream
You make a garbage man scream
Come on girl, it's a dream"
-beck, Peaches N Cream (proving just how sexy crutches can be)
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| in my frida kahlo phase |
[26 Jan 2005|06:57pm] |
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music |
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benny goodman |
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things received in sympathy (morons really deserve no sympathy, but i love and thank you all) for window jumping:
cheesecake brownie
chocolate chip pumpkin bread
chocolate
movies
soups
this morning, feeling cocky about making my way up the stairs at cowell, i slipped and fell. like falling in the shower and breaking a hip - id never felt so frail. come sit with your bed ridden grandmother while she carves woodblocks.
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| oh, sappho |
[23 Jan 2005|07:41pm] |
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music |
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kelly speaking french |
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Eros shook my
mind like a mountain wind falling on oak trees
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| forgot to jump with an umbrella |
[23 Jan 2005|03:04pm] |
things broken: the drawer that once held serving utensils, a chip off my ankle
things said: *india, leaning over her bed* basically, I'm puking, *kelly, stuck in bed for the next weeks* basically, I'm a moron
on another note, morphine is a beautiful thing. yet, not terrifically motivational
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| things that turn corners of my mouth |
[19 Jan 2005|03:16am] |
that phenomena of paper bags catching cats.
the walk of shame, when its far too early to be out.
running cold toes up other's legs.
a dirty comb left in the MERC next to a picture of someone's aunt.
the way the attractive person next to me in french rubs the fabric of his shirt between his thumb and forefinger when the profeseur asks him questions.
breaking bottles on curbs to find letters.
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| the love of not knowing or knowing where small bruises and scratches have come from |
[18 Jan 2005|04:41pm] |
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do i have any willpower, whatsoever?
san fransisco = selling clothes to buy beer = bathtub excursions = bruises like camoflage across my body
cheers to megan seducing ta's with accents
cheers to not being able to find constellations, barefoot fence hopping, bike rides and beer in small gazebos in forbidden surrealist neighborhoods with mr. z.
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[12 Jan 2005|04:18pm] |
saying "vulva" very calmly to megan while she has a mouth full of water = a very presurized burst of water all over the resturaunt table
Vaffanculo a Lei, la sua moglie, e' la sua madre. Lei e' un cafone stronzo. Io non mangio in questo merdaio! Vada via in culo!
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[10 Jan 2005|12:04pm] |
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinetely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
T.S. Eliot
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wayside_summer's journal
