screw the angels.. everybody wants to wear my red shoes

What? I don't know. I have been kind of crazy lately, and I may still seem a little crazy externally, but I really am totally in the zone (obligatory Sports Night reference). Seriously, I am so on top of things right now (except car insurance, gas & cell phone bills- I have the money, I just haven't paid them yet). I feel invincible. I know I'm not, logically, but red boots make you want to dance like no one's looking and make sure everyone is.

I have been very conscious of myself lately. I don't think self-conscious is the right term though, because I don't feel shy or reserved or unconfident. I do feel a little false, but I'm working on that. If YOU build yourself a persona, it's still you, right? So I've been persona building. I've been going through old journals, throwing our clothes I'll never wear, buying red boots and corsets, and wearing makeup. That's right- makeup. Unilateral rejection'll do that to a girl. So will February. I've been kicking ass and taking names at work. I am organized, efficient, productive, in charge, and making it look good. Jekyll and Hyde've got nothing on me. Seriously, I can't say I don't recognize the crazy girl that's been writing in my journal for the last two weeks, but I sure don't feel like her right now. I've worked her in- I think there's some value to spontaneity and impulsiveness. And it feels damn good being me right now. I feel really lucky to say that. Now I just have to clean my room. Not just... there's a pretty long to do list, but I'm on top of it. I am in the zone.

kind of sort of maybe almost sex

My first time almost wasn't
kind of didn't happen actually...
or... I don't remember how it ended.

I remember how it began-
'80s cartoon movie, vegan chili, video games
and a futon

Friends passing in and out of the room
with an increasing frequency
that coincided with our decreasing modesty
so that eventually
those friends were passing
video game controllers over our
entangled bodies.

and then there were three

his best friend asking him
"is this weird?" and after the
"kind of"
they silently agreed to avoid
each other's mouths and
focus on the girl...
pressing lips to my neck, my tongue
my... nevermind
the point is:

I've had sex.

But boy, we were never about that
Ok, we were kind of about that
but it wasn't the same thing.
You were never supposed to be
one of them.

I never felt more sexy than
in bed next to you fully clothed
cradled the moments like
nursing a baby-
slow and gentle
fingers on spine, inside of arm
back of neck
toes up and down legs
wedged into the socks
you forgot to take off
and pressed our feet together
like palms
traced the inside of your hand
with my fingers
as patient as I had to be for you
to work up the confidence
to close your fingers over them
stole kisses like I couldn't afford them

surprised when you tried to match funds
happily

rode that train like I didn't have to go
to work the next day.
And no, that's not a metaphor for sex

we were only kind of about that.

she's a jar...

I'm listening to that song right now, but it seemed appropriate. I don't know when I'm going to stop. Anyone who's talked to me in the last 2 weeks probably has some idea that I'm kind of in a very self-involved disassociated rambling phase right now. I've been writing like crazy, living out of my purse, my car, and vending machines. I have slept in five different cities in the last 2 weeks, and am quite frankly channeling me at 21 a lot more than I'd like to admit. I don't know when I'm going to slow down, or stop living this day to day messy, messy me. I've been feeling a little restless and temporary lately. It happens every so often where part of me thinks its a good idea to wander city streets, stay up too late smoking, drinking, and waxing philosophical. Then you wake up in a 9 by 6 whitewashed room in brooklyn on Sunday morning, realize you haven't slept in your apartment two days in a row in like 3 weeks, and that you're kind of scared to. I don't know, I think I'm afraid that I'll become complacent if I stop moving.

Anyway... blah, blah, blah. Angsty twenty something quarter life crisis. I'm sorry for every mean thing I've said about Zach Braff. I had a good night. Had dinner with Rob, who keeps me honest. He makes me admit when I'm bullshitting myself. Plus I can be totally weird with him, and he likes to plan, so I don't have to. Seriously, like a walking Zagat guide. Then I went to Out of the Blue for Jme's feature, and read a couple of new pieces, then bought this gorgeous journal that was $40, cuz, did I mention I've been a little impulsive lately? Jme was great. I literally cried. Then we got some drinks, so again, I got home at 1am, because I am becoming irresponsible instead of complacent. Maybe I don't have to pick. Anyway, I have to wear a suit tomorrow, which means I should sleep

embarrassing

so I was reading my old livejournal today. WOW, is that embarrassing. Perhaps what's most embarrassing is how little my tone and modesty has changed in 3 years. Anyway, here's what I learned about 20-21 year old Cara.
*She listens to DMX, NERD, Madonna, Matthew Sweet, and Jay-Z... only some things have changed.
*She knows how to CHANGE A TIRE? I don't ever remember having done that.
*She apparently was not very bashful about talking about things of a sexual nature in a completely public place. Also, not very shy about talking about the guy that she liked, even though he clearly was a frequent reader. I think I've lost some of my boldness.
*She was exactly the same amount busy as I am now. We never learn.
*She was a pretty good rapper (or at least better than i gave her credit for)
*She took a lot of online quizzes
*She had some WEIRD dreams. Like super detailed weird dreams about cars with alaskan huskies painted on them and car accidents and
*She meets a LOT of random guys and never does anything about it but write about them (which I guess works for me because I have all kinds of great dialogue moments)
*She was very self-conscious about feeling very self-important
*She had a very sex and the city like mentality
*Her porn name (and I guess also mine then) is Lisa Highland
*She made a lot of lists (um... yeah)

and then there are some great things that I just can't break down into summary:

"grace: (intertwining her fingers to mimick handholding) "it's like practically sex""

"[coffee shop conversation]From which, I might add, Melissa's genius theory on men (or men in my situation in particular) originated. That is, to not take no for an answer. Apparently, if you just decide that you're in a relationship, you are. It sounds nice and all, but I'm not sure how successful this hypothesis will prove to be."

And lastly... my genius summary of the perfect man (February 4th, 2004):

"boredom leads to livejournal entries... because sleep, who needs it? so i've decided to outline the qualities attributed to my ideal man. if i could build a man from scratch, this would be him... let's call him... jonah.
ok, so jonah basically is as follows:
-sarcastic, dry sense of humor, can make me laugh
-a taste for the bizarre and obscure
-not afraid to call me on my bullshit or tell me to shut up if it's warranted
-willing to watch (and enjoy) foreign and arthouse films, but appreciates the necessity of the occasional stupid funny movies
-on a similar note, enjoys going out for sushi, mediterranean food, etc., but also doesn't have a problem just ordering a pizza and vegging out with pizza, beer, and a movie.
-is interested in what i'm working on, but has his own thing going on.
-doesn't mind sleeping over sometimes, but gives me my space when we need it.
-tells me what he REALLY thinks about things im working on, constructively.
-tells me to go away if he needs space.
-enjoys music, movies, and reading, and understands how important these things are to determining compatability.
-doesn't mind spending an hour wandering around the used book store. or at least doesn't mind leaving me there.
-wants to learn new things and wants to teach me new things. (he he... fortune cookie game)
-on that note, has no problem laughing during sex. sex should be fun. shit, my mom reads this...
-physical appearance: ideally is about 5'9, has dark hair and REALLY blue eyes or DARK brown eyes. Is broad shouldered but not too muscley, but not too pudgy, and not too skinny. i don't do well with extremes. I should be able to kiss him standing on my tippy toes.
and likes to cuddle, but doesn't take it personally if i dont ALWAYS want to. if anyone can think of anything im missing, clearly its important so let me know."

Yeah. Special, Special stuff.

hmmm...

I just realized that I have done no laundry or grocery shopping since the beginning of the year. Nor have I cleaned my room. I have only used my stove about twice, and I don't think I've used the oven at all, or watched TV. Reason being? This is the first day I have actually been in my house for more than just sleeping or showering since new years day. I have had every weekend this year booked straight through, and have been working on my days off. I had to force myself back to sleep about 4 times this morning because I was so anxious about filling the day. Not that I don't have things to do, mind you- laundry, groceries (because i have been spending way too much money on food), schoolwork. I was planning on going to the BU or Emerson bookstore to see if they have this book I need for my first essay. Also, yoga, the gym, the library. I have lots of options. But I don't want to leave my bed at all. And I'm trying really hard to allow myself to not feel guilty for taking ONE day off from running around like a crazy person. But I haven't even gotten all the books I need out of my car yet from last weekend, and my room has not been cleaned since right after Christmas.

However, I have kind of been taking comfort in my life as a vagabond. Had a great time in NY this weekend. I'm really glad I saw Jon's play (well the second one). It was the first play Aaron Sorkin ever had produced, and it was kind of cool to see his early work. And if there's anyone more obsessed with Sorkin than me, it's Jon. Also, the house music was Jay-Z and Ashlee Simpson. All in all, good stuff. Sleeping in unfamilar places, i.e.- bus, Jon's room, make for interesting dreams. I mean, I don't know that I ever got to REM this weekend, and I was having these weird alternate universe dreams. I don't remember any of them, but I know that I was just kind of hanging out in between. It was kind of cool. Sometimes I don't understand why people bother with drugs. Your brain has so much potential to mess with you before substances even enter the picture. Also, I bought a really cute corset top and a really cute vintage t that says "i left my heart in ny." thought it might be a cute V-day top. AND I went to my favorite Chinatown bakery (to which Jon replied "you have a favorite Chinatown bakery? YES) and had TWO yes TWO coconut rolls for breakfast yesterday. Hmmm... food, right. Jury is still out on whether I will actually leave the house before the afternoon, but I do only have peanut butter, and if I go to the BU bookstore, I could stop at TJ's in Copley to do shopping on the way back... and the Library I suppose. However if I had in that green line direction, I'll be tempted to call someone that I'd like to talk to and it's probably best that I don't. Maybe I'll just go back to sleep.

thinking out loud

I don't know why I have been writing here so much lately. I've been so busy that I have had a lot of source material and not a lot of time to talk to people and share things that have been going on, so I guess I'm kind of saving it for myself for when I get to slow down for a minute and process everything. Because I am super anal-retentive about not losing things, so I save scraps of paper, fortune cookies fortunes, business cards I will never use, almost gone tubes of lip balm, emails i will NEVER need, IM conversations that I think will be good for play dialogue sometimes. That's probably pretty messed up. But I think that people should know that when they talk to me, they are being memorexed for future use. I learned from a playwriting professor in college that writers are always taking notes. Maybe that means we don't feel as much because we're always observing, even when we're living. Maybe that's why it never works when I try to be with other artists.

Anyway, this has been an absolutely insane week. I have seriously reconsidered everything about my life. I'm always talking about how I hate that young people are expected to be building toward some sort of someday conclusion, so I always try to live even when I'm building, but that's not REALLY true. I never live in the moment. I'm always building foundations, and I never see it through to a full house. One thing that I have not written at all this week is an annotation or essay for school. Exhibit A. Work has been crazy, and I don't feel like I will ever be able to establish a routine. I haven't been able to drag myself to the gym ONCE this week (probably because of the nyquil), and it seems like everytime I get used to something it changes. I wish I could be the Cara I felt like when I got back last week, that could leave anything in her wake and cut strings like scissors. I got an email today that the Omega retreat center is hiring for seasonal staff, which essentially means that there are people that go and live at this amazing holistic retreat center for 6 months, get paid, get fed, make beds or do laundry, organize workshops, or run desks, and then get to spend the rest of their time taking movement classes, yoga, tai-chi, dancing at drum circles and writing poetry- ok, that's what I would spend the rest of my time doing. But I can't just stop. I can't cut strings, put my stuff in storage and go find myself. Where the hell do I think myself is hiding? In Rhinebeck NY?

What has been most stressful this week is that I had to write a 200,000 dollar grant in like a day and a half while the staff was dismantling itself and I was quickly coming to the realization that I could very well be the last one standing, which means doing like 3 jobs on top of the 2 I already feel like I have. Which really mirrors my last job. I've invested so much here in building the Youth Media Institute, that I really don't want to leave it behind. And I don't want to leave my teens behind. They are AMAZING, and I think that we have a lot of great work to do this year. So it's interesting that crisis has kind of made me more committed to buckling down and reassessing priorities. Dropping all the balls I've been juggling and picking up what I can. For which purpose, I've created a blocked schedule for myself, so that I can make sure nothing slips. So I realized that I only have weekend nights unscheduled. To be fair, the R&S stuff is not always all of those nights, just things I try to keep blocked off for Our Sisters, group, Street Theatre, the new planning committee for Trans stuff. So, ok, yes, potentially all of those nights- but not always.



And that's before even scheduling in What's Up and ACME meetings, and me and Lexi are talking about starting up a women's writing group through R and S... So between work, and school, and the gym, and I swear I have friends that I like to see sometimes, I don't really feel like I even have time to worry about relationships and crap. But then I think of how I hate when people say that. Because yes, relationships are work, but they shouldn't be a burden. They should ease the rest of the burden. And I do feel like I always go for men who are at least close to as busy as me so that I don't feel like I'm neglecting them, because I hate feeling guilty about all of my other commitments. But I really feel like if both people understand that there's a lot of other stuff in life and enjoy the time that they can have together, that it shouldn't be a huge stress to be with someone. But I've always viewed the men I've been with as like a teammate, so if someone doesn't see a relationship as a partnership, like an opportunity to take on life together, then I guess I can see how they will always get frustrated with yet another thing they have to juggle. The whole mars and venus thing I suppose. Dating scares me. I really don't understand how it's done in real life. Stupid ALL school. But I do know that I'm done being the other woman, done kissing frogs that I don't even want to turn into princes just because a warm body seems better than an empty bed, and I'm done investing time in men that I'm really just trying to fix. Men are not houses, and fixer uppers are not worth the investment.

new poems (because i've turned into a graphomaniac)

detour home

Boston roads go everywhere
behind your back
they are like secret passageways
in castles that little kids are afraid
to talk about in the dark.

I've learned my way around
a little bit better
each time I've found a different
accidental way home
and there are always new ways
to get lost here.
Black holes running from
Dorchester to Mission Hill
and into the Fenway
and I never understand how I end
up under the damn Citgo sign
every time...

like it has a magnetic forcefield
around it
or you under it.
another place I lose myself...
your back is the backroads of Milton
in the dark and snow
10 minutes and an hour away from
my bed.
your hair those tree lined streets
on the Jamaicaway that I had no idea
would throw me into Brookline
cost me a dollar to get on the Pike
to find my way home again.
your scars are landmarks...
the Citgo sign, the Zakim bridge, the
gold dome over the State House
that let me know I'm on the right track
that I'll be home soon
or at least know where I'm going.

The road home is always closed after
midnight
after I leave you and that stupid sign
in my wake
follow orange signs all over Downtown
Boston
tracing arteries through one way streets
and almost the right way
and I've wasted so much time getting lost
in those city streets
late at night
your cheekbone, the top of your spine,
the back of your hand...
sometimes I kick myself for
not keeping better notes for next time
but in the end I always find a new way
back to myself.



poetic license

don't worry about me.
i know that it may seem like
i'm falling apart
that you broke me in half
or more pieces than you think
i can repair
but that just sounds better
than "you were a fly in my pudding
and it take two minutes of whisking
to make a new batch."

i know you think you saw
my heart through the cleavage
resting above my low cut dress
but that's not where I keep it.
and I only wear it on my sleeve
because it can take New England winters.
baby, i saw that you were a bull
in a china shop the moment we met.
do you really think i would
leave the breakables out on the shelf?
those mason jars labeled
pride, dignity, future
aren't made of glass--
they're titanium alloy
the stuff they make spaceships
out of
you need some serious fire
to cut through that shit
and I just don't think you've got it in you

and you could be anyone
the boy I had a crush on in
the third grade
a passing stranger on the T
a weekend of memories
because truth and beauty
are two different things
and hyperbole reads better
than reality
and I can't say I know much
but I've kissed enough frogs to
know that lips don't make princes
but my pen always can.

Aqua Teen is da Bomb

I'm so sad that I was in VT when all this stuff went down. But I am immensely amused by the aftershocks (pun fully intended). Mallory came to group wearing a shirt similar to this one the other night, which made my night:



She's so stylish :)

Colleen's friend Juan just sent this video, which absolutely made my day after going through 1,170 email messages that accumulated while I was on break. Yes, about half of them were SPAM, but that still leaves a lot of apology emails and meetings next week. I'm totally staying in tonight and sleeping.

The dangerous lives of celebrities

When Princess Diana died in a car accident almost ten years ago, newsmen hung their heads low and lamented how fame had killed the young princess. Anna Nicole Smith will get no such eulogy. Even in death, the bombshell is still famous only for scandal, her life story immortalized in Playboy and tabloids. I can't say that I have ever been a fan, but when I read that she'd died at 39, just months after burying her son and while embroiled in a custody battle over her newborn daughter, it hit me strangely. Obviously, the autopsy results are still being gathered, the five bags of evidence from her hotel room are still being rifled through in some CSI lab, but to say that the woman was not killed by fame would be ludicrous. I read this morning that she was "famous for being famous," and I can't think of any way to better put it. So, just because she wasn't run off the road by rabid paparazzi doesn't mean that our voyeuristic thirst didn't push her into an early grave. Despite that early departure, it would be difficult to make the argument that Anna Nicole Smith was not resilient. Comebacks, fad diets, lawsuits, dead husbands, dead sons, she's like a one woman Kennedy family reunion. Say what you will, the woman was a fighter.

"the inevitable death of privacy"

That's the cover story of this week's New York Magazine. Kind of got me to thinking... Ok, I will say this- I have not read the article yet. So, I am not going to comment or critique on how I feel about adults trying to define a generation that they don't really understand, or about old technology doing the job of the new blah blah blah McLuhan blah blah blah Locke blah blah digital age. I'm focusing on my writing this semester, not media theory, so I digress. Plus, I can't stand when people use rumor and conjecture to refute hearsay, so I'm just going to go with some of the ideas it sparked.

Why do I have a blog? I don't know. Because passive aggression lives on the internet. Because I hope that I'm cool enough that a couple of people who don't get to see me all the time like to keep up with what's going on in my life, or at least what I'm writing right now. Because as much as it makes me cringe, there's something cool about going back and looking at what I was thinking 6 months to 8 years ago and quite frankly, I'm running out of space in my bookshelves for notebooks. I am pretty proud of myself for not deleting my old livejournal and still having that as evidence of how insane I was when I was 20. Hopefully, this will serve some similar purpose when the punchline hits.

How have blogs affected the way we communicate? ALOT. I remember this one time that a friend in college was having a fight with a girl he was seeing, and she asked if they could move the conversation to AIM because she'd feel more comfortable... WTF. Also, that Freshman era story has recently been featured on Jon's blog as well. I think we may both give too much consideration to modes of communication. But no, I think that communication is important. And not just in that cliche, trust, communication, and respect do a healthy relationship make part (though I think that's probably only a cliche because it's true)... but I'm really fascinated with how emerging technology changes interpersonal relationships. I know that I'm much more passive. I know that I don't seize the moment as much because I half assume I can kind anyone I need to on myspace. I study up on people before I ask them out. I am an internet stalker.

Lastly, I think that its interesting that communicating through mediums like text messaging, emails, facebook and myspace comments, and instant messaging has kind of eliminated the need for beginnings, middles, and ends. I mean, maybe I have studied creative and dramatic writing too much, but people, this is basic. There are three parts- beginning, middle, and end- it's very simple. A beginning is usually something like a greeting- hello, how are you, hey, whats up, yo... any of these will do. Then the middle can be any array of things that both parties want to engage in conversation about. Could be making plans to hang out later, maybe catching up on something you missed, just bullshitting because you don't actually have the time to see each other in person. Here's the important part: when the conversation ends, there should be a conclusion. Something like: alright, well I gotta go, or i'm on my way out the door, i'll talk to you later, i'm out, see ya... or something to that effect. Similarly, if you happen to accidentally implied your availability, but cannot actually engage in conversation, one of these farewells works as well. Like, hey sorry I can't talk right now, or something like that.

I think it is very strange that with our dependence on media for communication, it is a lot easier to seek out physical human companionship. You have people on call via your keyboard, why make plans to see them in the flesh? (maybe because its much more entertaining and engaging). Also, I don't think I talk to PEOPLE as much anymore. So some of you will have to suffice with this. I'm going to go have dinner with a real person.

ADDENDUM: I have been waking up each morning this week to email updates from the hospital about my Uncle's recovery from his heart transplant. That has to make it much more easy for my Uncle who's keeping post at the hospital, and much less tedious than a phone treem, but we're all still in the loop. So, there's a check in the plus column.

little boy blue

I remembered that last night in New York City
the little Italian bistro in the lower east side
wedged between the coffeehouse
and the lesbian sex toy shop
where you talked me into ordering a goat cheese panini
(the bistro, not the sex shop)
even though I was a strict vegan at the time

i was never a strict anything around you
...you always crushed my resolutions with vices
like jack daniels, camel lights,
hot chocolate, mango smoothies
your hands

... and all that before I even realized
I was hiding behind fake hotel
lobby shrubbery... poorly
caught easily
and i pretended I was looking
for my supposedly ringing cell phone
damned the supposedly missed call
awkwardly stumbled into your
waiting arms
pulled away before your hand
could settle into the familiar
groove
in my back
before you could pull away first.

And a year and a half of almost
hanging up first floods back to me
with the almost regrets of hanging on
for just five minutes more than I know
I should
just to file away five minutes more
of your voice in my ear
and the kicking myself
for letting you win again
and what was your prize?

i imagine my dignity in a box
with a bow

but it's been a long time
since those late night/early morning drives
listening to the morning traffic report
as I shut off my car and climbed
three flights to an empty 5am
bed
it's been a long time since we ate
lychees and peaches
and our mouths and fingers
shared the juice
over black and white films
and strawberry sweet hookah smoke
it's been a long time since you
called me when you didn't need anything
except me

I've got a strong heart
but I been thinking about that
box of dignity
resolved to keep it safe
I told you to mark it fragile
and send it back to me
and decided to be strict
with myself for once.

but I have never been strict
anything around you.
I think I could give up those
camel lights, maybe even chocolate
you like it more than me anyway
I may even be able to do away
with my morning coffee
but baby you're like
nicotine, caffeine, alcohol, serotonin
and crack
all rolled into one beautiful
mirage
and all i see is those blue
pools
and your nose that always
gets in the way
when I want to press my mouth
against yours

and I have a feeling I'm going
to be smoking a lot
this weekend.

nyquil

is awesome. but it does not taste good. why am i regressing to high school? ok, to be fair, i am not medicating depression this time, but a chest cold. still, i am concerned that given another week of this i may not be able to sleep without it. and nyquil is expensive stuff, man. so it's starting to kick in, but a couple of random thoughts (in bullet point form, because i've been told that THAT is all i need to do in order for things to be more clear WTF)

*i just spent an INCREDIBLY long T commute home mostly with a very interesting man named rudy who (a)asked me if i understood after every drunken obviousness he uttered (b) told me i was obviously a smart girl, or i think thats what he meant by 'i can tell you're not a dumb dumb just by looking at you" (c) however, also by looking at me thought i was 29 and 5'4, so perhaps he was wrong about the other thing as well (c) asked me if i wanted children, then answered no for me, saying i was probably the career type (a phrase he choked on like whiskey down the wrong pipe) (d) and told me that there were a lot of vietnamese people in my neighborhood, but that the hispanics were everywhere and that he thinks there should be laws about how many children people can have. delightful travel companion.

*i will never EVER have a dinner that prevents me from retrieving my car on a Wednesday again, no matter how delightful the companionship. i really did not remember the commute by T being so horrible at 1am.

*i realized something about myself. i am a shittaker... no, not a shittalker, well maybe that too, but i digress. i do what i think is necessary to make other people happy in the blind hope that it will be returned. this applies to essentially every avenue of my life. i acquire abusive relationships like stamps in a backpacker's passport. some people think you need to get hit to be in an abusive relationship. those people have probably never quit the same job three times.

that's all. ok, i think the taste is worth it.

grrr...

I am freakin out today. There is just TOO much to fit. The only reason I am even typing this right now is that (1) I need to vent and (2) the stupid frickin fax machine is SLOW. It is not humanly possible to accomplish all of the aspects of my job in the time allotted. I cannot handle not having a Program Manager anymore. I know this is just a reactionary today has been really stressful vent, but I'm hitting the wall. I have a bazillion phone calls to make, site visits to set up, tax paperwork to finish up, accounting software conversion, and like 3 grants due by next Friday, two of them this week. Plus I have to hire two new kids, and I feel like I don't even know what my job is anymore. I felt SOOO good when I left Vermont on Friday and i feel like that has been completely beaten out of me. It sucks, because I liked that Cara a lot better.

For Jess

Today's Craigslist "missed connections" highlights

1- You were leaving the station and I was entering. We locked eyes a few times while we were passing each other on the escalator. You were a brunette, and I was wearing a black hooded jacket. I wanted to get back on the escalator and follow you up. I truly regret not trying to talk to you. I don't imagine you'll find this, but if you do, I would love to know who you are.

Good luck everyone.

(you were a brunette and i was wearing a black jacket? thats half the frickin city)

2- I was carrying two dumbbells; you offered to let me cut you in line. I should have offered to buy you lunch. You were very sweet, I'd love the chance to see you again.

(ok, this one is a little more specific... It is titled, by the way "Cute Girl at Wal-Mart. good to know where i go next time i have a late night craving for dumbbells)

3- Hey buddy. You really should call Jen today to see how she is feeling. Wondering if you took the right advice and ended it with her. Just curious. Get back to me since I am unable to email you at this time. I left Mariah a message to.
Any good concerts this week?????? I don't think Jen will be going to hers this week.....poor little angel.

(wow, way to hang out the laundry to dry)

4- Everything you do and say are done with a methodical intentions to hurt me or play me like a fool. You said yourself you say things just to hurt me and leaving things openly for me to see. You never wanted this to work. If so you wouldn't be fucking another or others as I have known since the beginning. Have them, Have her...hope she can give you what I can't. Remember as well you only get respect when you give respect.
I'll take of myself (go get tested) and the family (court.custody and child support). Your not all that buddy, I'll know I can find a nicer man and surely a more well endowed one as well with a real job and real ambition.
Good luck.

(because passive aggression lives on the internet)

ah, other people's misfortune amuses me so much more than it should. i need to start scouring this thing for dialogue ideas.

think about that, would you?

Jme just posted a couple of great vents about the outdatedness of the Bible, and it reminded me of this clip from the West Wing. I heart Aaron Sorkin.

new draft- manic depressives make good lovers... half of the time

beautiful, silly, and enigmatic

that was how he described me
but damn the boy was always
in front of a mirror

his reflection was all over the place
and his image captured
everywhere we went
by friends and acquaintances
with devices meant for proving
real life was real

he was the "it kid"

she thinks about the day they met
with every detail she can
hold in her tiny hands.

the radiohead drifting in from
open bedroom door
the clouds of hookah smoke
the hot chocolate laced with
liquid courage
the hour it took her to
say hello
the five seconds it took
her to scald his leg with
her clumsy hands and cheap liqour

we met in cafeterias
and i loved him
but
everyone wanted to be near him
and i never got
why i was the one
that got to sleep
skin to skin

the weeks after are more
fuzzy
the late nights blurring into
early mornings
never sure which was which
until the sun interrupted

she never understood how they
made the night go away
so quickly

never got comfortable
every night of sleep
there was this constant
self-awareness
even in dreams
each shudder of his leg
each arm adjustment

i was so sure he
was going to leave me
i didn't sleep for that entire
winter
despite how warm his body
was then

he was always on dub speed
the words faster
than chipmunks
but she always remembered
them
the next day
would write him into plays

he was bob dylan
in that city
rambling like he was
born that way
and i never fancied
myself joan baez
i wanted to so bad
but couldn't see the
beauty he claimed
illuminated even against snow

i steered us clear
of washington square
and when he tried to offer me
diamonds
i just saw rust
in the icy snow
splattered like
blood

spattered like blood

maybe my memories
are getting mixed up

like the time i got a concussion when
i was a baby and got a Happy Meal
in the emergency room

and that's how she
remembers him
now
she forgets all of
the things that hid
behind the haze
of first love

the days without a call
the nights she couldn't
recognize him
because the bottle was too empty again
the apologies left with kisses
on discolored arm skin
the dna left on the
note she could never
bear
to open
the semester it took to
recover
from having nothing else
left of him

there was no snow there
just linoleum
both times

they asked me
if it was him
to take my time
to be sure

but his reflection was
everywhere
in the metal walls, the tables
colder than his body
had become

and he wasn't beautiful anymore
wasn't silly
like in all of the pictures

five years
and those pictures
stay in the box
with the letter
and even though the
glue has come undone
on its own, she still
won't open it
won't read his words.

she's already written him
into history
and he's got no say
it's probably better that way
legends
are never self-made
and they always love you more
when you're gone.

fading with grace

opposites attract

negatives repel

a spark some fuel will inevitably create a flame

but no one ever tells you what happens
when mediocre
gets together with mediocre

when two stars dance
ferociously
trying to burn themselves out
into blue and red magnificence

they'll manage

the burning out part
but who knows how many will
get to witness the
magnificence?

kid
we were both trying so hard
to be great
for the world we forgot
to be good
for each other

thinking that could never be enough
because we both wanted to be
up on that silver screen
both wanted to command the crowd
to point out our names
in history books
to our grandkids

"see... I used to BE somebody"

but we never mapped that
shit into the plan for real
too busy chasing our tails
to think that you gotta have
a kid to have grandkids
you have to make a baby
and in an ideal world that means
you gotta make love
you have to have a lover

kid we were never lovers
you
were one hell of a sparring partner
and the swords we used
sometimes disguised themselves in
pressed mouths
hands in hair
salt to salt to salt to
morning
eyes closed like shades and if the

oh yes oh yes oh yes

was loud enough we could
ignore the rooster too
snuff out its caw
with claws in hip flesh

but we were both somewhere else
mapping those interlocked appendeges
into how to make it big

we shoulda made films because
we're both projectionists
only lasted so long because we
decided
we could be whatever we wanted
if we pretended long enough

i never saw myself in those women
you scripted on to stages
but you saw them in me
and damn if i didn't think
you were my very own
James Dean

but the only time you ever
drove fast was when you were
trying to get that scary bug off
the windshield
your scream like a five year old-
vulnerable, human

extraordinary is like a balance sheet
with no checkmarks on the side
that's titled
boring, annoying, normal, mundane

so i just ripped the page in half
let you be extraordinary
tried to keep up
put on my red dress

and tried to be a star.

good night

Leaving the Lizard Lounge last night, Christopher Johnson repeated the last line of the last piece I had read (Legends are never self made/ and they always love you more when you're gone) back to me and said "I'm going to sleep with that tonight." It was such an awesome compliment, totally made my night.

In other news, I'm still sleeping in Worcester. I've been in Boston Saturday and Sunday, but haven't stayed. I can't figure out why, but I'll be back tonight.