Sometimes when I smoke or when I am falling asleep I feel like I am not present in my minds racing between analogies. Thinking about this which leads to that, wine to UB40 to Tallahassee, always Tallahassee. I feel like I am just clinging to the liquid that is being shot between receptors. I feel like I am on space mountain, I feel like I am surfing, I feel like I should be blind but my eyes are closed inside my brain.

CAPTCHA = Completely Automated Public Turing tests to tell Computers and Humans Apart

and when we do it you can put all your fingers in my mouth

When you are around me, you are photographed beautifully. 

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Here's what I'm thinkin - we turn these bad boys into knee highs/thigh highs.

Twelve seems a little young to start smoking. Emily, always having done exactly as she wanted, has been hanging out with some older boys. Bryan’s dad smokes Camels, Aaron steals Myste’s from his grandmother and Adam, at 15 could nearly grow a beard. On the best days of their nicotine infatuation, he could get away with buying cloves from the 7-11.

     

Currently, Emily is sitting at the waters edge enjoying such a prize. She likes the way your lips slightly stick and taste exotic. She stares out at the water and wonders if  the big eyed, brown skinned boy from her dreams could be smoking as well, just across the ocean. She takes a deep drag in and watches the cloud float out of her and wander over the waves. She paints her nails a deep maroon and wears dozens of anklets. She imagines a castle for a home with marble echoing hallways and how he could hear the song of her approach.

Bryan tried to kiss her, but he was all light skin and freckles. She felt his wiry  beard hair on her chin and hated it. He wasn’t nearly mysterious enough. Too obvious, earnest, in his desires. She would kiss no more boys, she decided, until she met the one from her dreams. Or if the chance to kiss her math teacher, Mr. Hill, ever presented itself. His kiss would be warm and soft, his skin fresh and smooth. He would taste like coca cola and explain the mysteries of algorithms and what makes airplanes work.

It’s after nine and the beach is deserted. Emily likes it best this way. No tall healthy girls in small bathing suits making her feel self conscious. The big waterfront houses loomed behind her. The sliding glass doors like giant reflective mouths that would swallow up the ocean when hurricane season hit. Her mother was constantly worrying about hurricane season, and the volume of her hair. Emily’s was thick like her fathers and deep down it made her mother jealous. 

Emily didn’t worry about hurricanes, or her mother. She concentrated on inhaling and exhaling the smoke with the rhythm of the oceans waves. She hoped that eighth grade was more interesting than seventh and that maybe soon she would start her period. (and that when it happened it would trigger the development of her breasts.)

I am scared that you will like it at other people's houses more than you like it at mine.

i want you to tickle my back lightly to wake me up. first with the tips of your fingers than with the tips of the hairs on your face. you can use your chin to push hard around the shoulders once you see I have roused. i think the tension there is causing nightmares. 

It's like if he doesn't kiss me on the mouth it isn't happening. He isn't sleeping in my bed or making promises or letting me worry.
But it is all tired, less urgent than before.
And if he doesn't kiss me on the mouth
It's easier not to care. 

Just another Sunday of walking through union square listening to Bryan Adams and crying watching a schizophrenic woman curse the sky. 

You will say to yourself.

"No way I am gonna watch this guy talk about starcraft for almost 2 hours."

And if you are me you will say;

"No way I am gonna watch this guy talk about starcraft for almost 2 hours again."

He is so charismatic. And his brother is a fucking babe.

When I am depressed and around a lot of people I feel really bad for feeling bad.  I feel like I am sucking the oxygen out of a room.  Then I feel worse. I call this "tunneling" where you keep feeling guilty for feeling bad, feeling bad for feeling worse until you are deep down under the city.  Until you are walking home too close to cars and hoping they swerve!

jumbled thoughts from the morning after a Christmas party;

I can't ever capture the Florida sky

the colors can't be stolen by anything but eyes. 

I like that idea in some ways

no pictures at my wedding

"what's that kids name? upstairs?"

"Pat."

"I'm gonna finish this beer and I'm gonna punch pat in the face."

hiding bottles of vodka from the maniac

but still dancing dancing in my mothers gown

Aslan singing to impress Holly 

and Alabama wild from the night

driving up and hearing the music from down the street

them looking dead

harsh stubble on my hand, cupping his chin to pour water in

grateful confused

"no one has fun."

"i am an animal."

"john is an animal, yeah john is an animal too. you love animals?"

noidontthinkido. 

global babe

what do i always dream of?

a beach house i have never been too. summer vacation. board games and reading and before boys. my own adolescent head and time stretching out endlessly. no ambition. death to ambition. ambition is expectation and an unhealthy addiction for a depressed mind. 

ten million global babes waiting to eat your heart. 

my mom hung the sheets out to make them smell like sunshine. they smelled sticky like vodka and jeans and cigarettes. disappointed and at dinner, she didn't want her mother in law to see her cry. it is the same and it is stuck. a lack of revelations. like the earth stops spinning, a lack of revelations. 

i can't not participate unless i want to kill myself. 

the earth won't stop spinning. my heart won't stop beating. wal mart will never close. holy shit. wal mart might never close and still be open when i die. bury me in wal mart. it beat out my heart. eat out my heart. 

Julie;

She got a bad haircut and stayed inside all spring. 

Sometimes Bridget (my plant)'s hair gets stuck on mine and I carry one of her long vines halfway across my room before I notice. I think it happens when she is thirsty. 

I like to refer to Julie, Nena and myself as "the lonely hearts club" but only in my head.

Hearing Voices:

Tonight coming back from Brooklyn, I asked the driver to go back over the bridge. He was nice about it but asked several times to make sure that yes, I wanted to drive back over it and then back again. I hope it didn't seem disrespectful.  I can't afford to be taking taxi's. I listened to a song a friend of mine wrote that kind of hurts to listen to, so I don't.  When I went to a brain doctor once, she said to lean into bad feelings, prepare for them like an oncoming cold. It wasn't until the third time across that I got the toughest words to hear lined up with the smoothest, starriest part of the ride.

Les tells me she is learning that you don't keep escalating. That you hit a high point and roll back again. She is learning this from cancer patients, elders.

Any moment could be it. The moment you start to recede.

I hope it happens while I am brushing my teeth. Looking in the mirror and thinking about the Truman Show.

Death to Apathy, New York City, October, 2013

Call your parents.

I was just reading the wikipedia about Jean Rhys and for some reason, this last little line, made me feel sad.

so strange to me, the lack of intensity

it always feel good though, to interlace fingers

his hands above his head

my dress around my hips

lean back

against the morning sun

in a bed head

a man of few words says

"you're gorgeous"

and maybe it is ok

to move from 2 to 3

without a whole lot of feeling

We screened the movie at google. 

When I watched this and Vanessa starts talking about the rape scene for some reason I couldn't stop thinking "Rape Lite" in the "Cool Whip" font.

He will always be my music man.

Grapefruit and hard boiled eggs is the most beautiful breakfast I can think of. 

I want to kiss for ten thousand years. 

Let's go to Home Depot together and get the supplies for this.

Let's each make our own, quietly, together, in the same room.

We can use them at the same time, but we can never eye contact.

Cain't never!

I met Temple Grandin in San Francisco last year and she felt very strong to me. Like the roots of a turnip or some other winter vegetable. I felt like that part in as good as it gets, she made me want to be better. 

A letter from February 28, 2013

today is my last day in florida

i didn't get done any of the things i was here to do

achey heart

do you think this is a funny joke?

"i dont know where the road less travelled is, but i know im supposed to take it"

my brothers friend eric dropped off a J for me the other day

so instead of pretending I was going to do any of the things I said I would

I woke up and smoked it and went for a very long walk

it was like an odyssey

at first I saw a peacock, with his full feathers out. he was shaking and dancing and the green and gold and blue was catching the sun and i thought about hair straighteners and gold teeth. 

I was listening to michael jackson and losing my mind. some of his songs are so good. I only became aware when a man on a riding lawn mower was staring at me that I was like, snapping and stepping. 

i walked down to the water and stared at the waves for awhile. thought about how everything is about death. felt lucky to have florida in my heart. I passed a bush earlier with pretty white flowers on it. I wanted to pick one for my hair and so was looking for one that looked like it was dying. I looked all over the bush, not picking ones that had unopened buds next to them. then I saw scattered on the ground lots of flowers that had fallen so I took one of those. 

when i was a kid, every night I put all the toys I had in my room in bed with me. I would worry they would feel left out. It started getting worse and worse and I wanted to put like my stool and curtains and stuff in my bed so my mom made a rule about how many things I could sleep with.

standing at the water a breeze lifted the white flower out of my hair. I chased and and of course pulled the petals, "he loves me, he loves me not". he loved me. 

i listened to beyonce and walked down the pier behind a boy and girl. he had a neck tattoo and was smoking a black n mild. they were walking slow and i felt like i could merge with them. slip right between their interlaced fingers, were it not for the dark look she gave me. 

i thought about living inside sinead oconnors voice. it is so lush, the sounds the cells in her neck make. i feel not like she is the greatest, but there is something special about how air passes through her. it makes me sad now to see her overweight with ugly tattoos and no end of the rainbow. 

i looked at all the houses and cars and thought for the first time ever, maybe i will never change how i feel. maybe i will never want this. no tea parties or crepe paper. or pig tails or having sex while there are children sleeping. 

i listened to this jackson brown song john always said i should. he said it was about me. i had kind of listened before but never really, even though he asked me about it a bunch. it took me so off guard. the depth and sadness of the words. I think i so often underestimated his understanding of me. I cried walking down the street with the sun beating down on me. I looked for a bit of shade to hide but i had to keep walking. I thought about how sad, that I can't tell him. I listened to it, finally. and you are right. and all the things I can;t tell him. i cried for all those things too. and for the secret hallway in my heart that has been created, where there was once none. 

i picked another flower, yellow. he loves me not.

felt fitting, but the world is what you make it so i picked another, he loves me.

it was at about the two hour mark that my body started to hurt.

now i am home, on the porch and the breeze sounds like waves. repetitive motion. 

when i pass areas that are unkempt, unmanicured, eyesores to the friends of my mother. i can't help but notice. they leave their dead right out. brown palm fronds entangled with bright red hibiscus and bottle brush. they rot and nourish where they can be seen, so we don't become too delusional about life. next to this lot i passed a small house. on the fence next to it was a big sign with a photo of a really cute young boy, and next to it a photo of him in a football uniform. he died about 5 years ago, when he was 17. i wonder how long before his family will take down that banner. already, the sun is bleaching it, and it I am sure, no one on that street even notices it anymore. 

Review/Interview from no film school. Yeahhhhhh.