myriad: oh my god we got the best cereal
myriad: it is cheerios that come with berries in
myriad: and the cheerios themselves are already sweet and the berries are all tart
myriad: and they are not bad even if they were freeze dried
myriad: and it is just the best cereal
lizbeth: wow
myriad: at least for me
lizbeth: you rock
myriad: do you know, it’s only recently that i am learning how to actually experience my feelings rather than analyzing the fakeness of them and what i should be feeling
Continue reading ‘they left out wineberries, though’
Archive for June, 2003
and i wonder how long it can endure this way without changing. and i wonder what i am afraid of saying, or what it is about speaking that stills my hand. but these keys are heavy and resistant. my words take on a strange weight that feels like my life does, when i speak so few of them. and it is even more like my life feels when i show them to no one.
but i want change, right? i want to break out of this? i want things to get better? i suppose i should just trust in time. everyone always asks me why, if i know why this is happening. but it is all i can do even to describe. i am not a meteorologist of this storm, and even professionals are hard-pressed to say why the storm hits just how and when it does… it is just the atmosphere, these things just happen, just keep happening. it is the nature of them to happen. i remember all the heavy futility of trying to change. the weather always comes back to this.
i could tell a story. i could flail with words and my kingdom of waves. i could sit here blankly staring at these pixels, fingers dull and slow and stubborn. i could do a lot of things. and i do.
oh, i know i am frivolous with my tale of woe. drama thickly spread, a little bread with your butter? but from the inside it feels this big. and i am hopeless, and my little abortive attempts at telling will not be heard, at least not today.
laugh at me, because i am ridiculous.
is there something to say? has it all been said? will i be quiet forever?
last night i dreamed i went to the hospital, went back to del amo.
every night i distract myself from flashbacks by planning out how i’m going to die.
i didn’t mean to go backwards.
i didn’t mean to drown.
i don’t have the will to escape and i don’t know why this is happening to me. i am trying to use music but this thing is just too far gone.
i weep for us.
and still i will be silent.
i could speak, if i chose. i remember when we told about that kind of thing in this journal and i have priceless moments. the awful, close, relentless heat all day, two cold showers together, freckles bedewed with water, cold wet kisses, face and breasts and stomach pushed against wet tiled wall. i want to tell it like a story because it is beautiful, but i’m tired. scared and tired and drowning.
i think i’ll be silent.
oh i am heavy. oh i hatelove feeling. oh i care.
i wish i could learn the lessons i would teach. i wish i could show tangibly my understanding. all i’ve ever had is words, and they are not enough. i wish i had anything to give. i wish i understood myself. i wish these things were easier.
i outran self-hate but she is too too quick for me, i am giving way.
oh, oh, the night stretches lonely and hollow-solid, this determination, this familiar empty discipline. i never learned to respect (or disrespect) this habit, this sheath of resolutions, this all, all, all or nothing attitude. (i think of a girl in attitude derriere, balancing ink and parchment with scrolls and scrolls of numbered lists, thou shalts, on her perfectly turned out heel.) this familiar longing, i miss… what? just filling, doesn’t matter what kind? no matter how hard we try to make one thing matter, they crowd around us for attention. and the systems gather: no extras, this summer, going to save money. no more tv. practice guitar every day. don’t ask aeryn for anything any more. don’t eat anymore, or don’t eat out anymore. go for a walk every day. exercise five minutes every hour. on and on. and they fall away as quickly as them come, some more easily than others. it is how we learned to grow up. it is a well-worn glove, comforting and tight but unforgiving.
Continue reading ‘give me hope that emptiness brings fullness’
so my guitar got here today. also a recording type thing for the computer – sort of a pre-amp, but it sends the signal in through the usb. so i’ve had ups and downs trying to get that working – been too excited to play much guitar, up until just now. but i think i got it working, except the mic is much too quiet, and i think it’s because the thing doesn’t provide a “phantom power source” as it called it. so i need to figure out how to fix that – i want to buy a better mic anyway, are the real ones not condenser mics? argh i am clueless! anyway, except for that, everything is set up for me to start recording. i have to arrange all my songs though, which will be a bitch! especially now that i have THREE instruments that i can work in if i choose. ha.
Continue reading ‘why don’t you weep when i hurt you’
all right, you little bitch. i am sick of this. this is not a performance. this is not some game any more. so you listen to me, things are going to change. no more television. you have one program per week, but you had better see less. and there will be other changes too. just you wait. i am utterly sick of you and i cannot take it anymore. your life is going to change, you little cunt. you watch yourself more closely from now on.
a scant two days until my guitar gets here. this morning i woke up and showered, because of the novelty of instantly dry hair. because showers are only half the bother when you don’t have to worry about your greasy smelly hair and whether or not to get it wet (but it always gets a little wet even if you try) and whether or not to wash it, and then it doesn’t dry for half the day. and yes, it’s still scary, and i have many other reasons why it’s hard for us to take showers. but it’s like i’ve slipped into a new angle.
Continue reading ‘who it was that i thought i was being’
