messy, messy psyche.

ripped out a page from my diary.

goodnight,
xo.

even clouds dream of death.

i woke up thinking in rusty french.

my phantoms are reemerging. i was so close. ...so close. even dug all the necessary catacombs. shoveled and slopped little piles of tear drenched dirt out of me. gazed at them--grinning and empty. my own flesh muddied and glimmering in the moonlight, nearly mummified. but i became the robber of my own graves. i can bury and bury all i want--completely void myself, if i wanted to. but i'll always be haunted by my own ghosts. they will linger in the crevices i can never reach, furtively germinating a complex of soul molesting roots. sprouting visions of you, as i watch myself wilt.

it's a funny feeling
when a daydream morphs
into actuality.

if only, if only, if only, if only, if only...

today has been comprised of reading kerouac, listing to lipscomb, and cooking stuffed bell peppers.
my mother was kind enough to write me up the basic recipe with suggestions and i tweaked some things, as well.
they're stuffed with brown rice, spices, and various chopped up veggies that i sauteed--carrots, onions, roasted tomatoes, black beans, an a bit of corn. i would've put feta on top but i was out, so just used parmesan.

j'avais rêvée pour vingt années.

today is my last day of being a teenager. i feel as though i should do something rebellious...since i foolishly forgot to include that aspect in my teenage existence--such a waste!

my dream life has consisted of you, exclusively.
it kills me, darlin'.

so, i was waking to my car and i hear a "hello" slap the back of my neck. i was going to turn around to see who it was, but there was another guy walking the opposite direction, and i figured it was directed towards him. i kept walking. staring to the side at my own shadow. then someone murmured under their breath beside me and a man's voice said "are you in architecture?" startled and stumbling over my own words like a fool gorging on anxiety and palpitations, i responded in "oh me?"s and "um"s...eventually getting out a "no." told him i just came from video, and before i could explain the wicker basket and rulers, he asked if i was "doing 3d and stuff." i kind of chuckled and said no, then felt bad because he was serious. i asked him what his major was and he said computer science and informed, without my questioning, that he was indeed a geek. i smile and said "that's great, though." or something of the sort, trying to be nice and all the while hide my state of bafflement. he quickly switched back to me and asked what i was doing in video, and i explained it poorly. he got to his car said "well, take care." and i said "yeah, you too." then continued walking.


it's so odd to me that these occurrences are so rare. strangers speaking to each other. then leaving and never knowing anything else about the other's existence. and i guess they linger with me because those conversations don't have a past or future. they're a moment--and that is all they ever will be.

can't get enough.

two shirts, one enormous ugly sweater, an obnoxiously large scarf, tights, jeans, socks, boots, and my hair's all waded up like a bird's nest. still shivering. i would not do well in the frigid parts of the country.

it appears, that in my slumber, zora discovered the yarn basket.
i woke to a plethora of tangled string wound and strewn about my abode.

you know..actually, it nearly resembles that marcel duchamp installation: