two.

Monday, June 9th, 2003
Subject: hi kids.
Time: 12:01 pm.

sitting around waiting to be called into work. thinking about the things i'd do if i wasn't called into work. i'd go to queens. to the promise land of target. i'd go jogging. i'd do laundry.

by the way i'm canning this job. to make time for me.

and to make time for others.

someone at work told me the other day i was a likeable person. this made me feel pretty good.



Saturday, June 7th, 2003
Subject: oh yeah?
Time: 4:46 pm.

i'm not giving up yet. and that includes you you and you. and me too.

holla.



Friday, June 6th, 2003
Subject: typos.
Time: 5:56 pm.

happiness is going to hit me hard some day. this deep sadness is going to dissipate. and i don't care who reads this. i just need to let some of it out. maybe i just need more hugs.



Saturday, May 24th, 2003
Subject: ALSO.
Time: 1:05 am.

I JOINED FRIENDSTER. BOO. I WANT TO LIVE IN A SMALL TOWN AGAIN SOME TIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE. AND I WANT TO DRINK BEER AND BOWL. YES. AT THE SAME TIME.



Time: 1:01 am.

WHY WOULD YOU EVER WANT A LIVE JOURNAL T-SHIRT. SERIOUSLY FOLKS. WHAT KIND OF MARKETING DID YOU DO.

AND.

I AM GOING HOME TO SEE MY DOG. AND I AM GOING TO GO CAMPING. AND I LOVE CAPS LOCKS. MORE THAN I WILL EVER LOVE YOU.

DEAR ERICA. THIS IS ERICA. I PROMISE THINGS WILL STRAIGHTEN OUT. IT WILL GET BETTER. IF NOT, YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE THE LORD.



Saturday, May 17th, 2003
Subject: not so sweet.
Time: 1:47 am.

i left passerby early. my arms are pins and needles. the back of my head hurts.



Friday, May 16th, 2003
Subject: okay.
Time: 3:08 pm.

i'm scared of being an opportunist.

and.

i'm out of practice.

and out of touch.



Saturday, May 10th, 2003
Subject: things could be better. things could be worse.
Time: 1:03 pm.
Mood: blah.
Music: cat hum.

i need a little break. from new york city. i need a little break, period. to re-group. i feel like i'm falling a part. all i need is less noise. more space. a basketball. loki. warm air. more stars. a drive. old friends.

i'm feeling out of place these days.



Wednesday, May 7th, 2003
Subject: i don't write that often.
Time: 12:30 pm.

but i still lurk in your journals. ha. ha. ha.



Wednesday, April 16th, 2003
Subject: work.
Time: 3:50 pm.

my body hates me.



Friday, April 11th, 2003
Subject: i wish i was a little bit taller.
Time: 11:50 pm.

i'm thinking about you. yes you.



Tuesday, April 8th, 2003
Subject: ha.
Time: 12:09 pm.
Music: bruce springsteen. atlantic city.

FAULKNER.

i'm really tired.



Monday, April 7th, 2003
Subject: i blame college.
Time: 2:30 pm.
Mood: okay.
Music: big fat greek wedding dvd display music.

Definition.

Before (prior to any voluntary or not voluntary movement regarding this process) I enter my sanctuary, which I have entered before, consciously, though at times unconsciously to consciously recall all the times I have entered it before, my body shuffles under the covers, the covers that chafe my body, until urgency--whether it be conscious or unconscious--urges me to remove my body from my bed, drawing me to this room, this room that I have entered before. And in the darkness of the hallway (or is it the darkness of my mind, of my dreams, of my life?), I search, fondling the walls with my fingertips (crudely) to find the light, a light I know--for this knowledge was bequeathed unto me by my mother--that will reinforce, shed luminary delight over, dictate the world around me with just one flick of the switch, a switch that will turn on the light, and i will no longer be stifled by the darkness, suffocated by naivete--the time before external existence, in the watery womb, in the warmth that is understood before the conscious awakening of birth that is not naivete, but rather, innate, as though my mother's maternal crooning urinated from her mind, flushed through the umbilical cord and dripped into my under-developed--not over-developed, as it is now--mind. Crudely. Crudely fondle, the walls? Or is it my id that crudely fondles my ego in search of the superego to quench this crude fondling. But, what is crude but the basic humanistic instinct of yearning, yearning for rationality, for understanding, for a requital of something, a thing, anything, maybe nothing that is unrequited. What would Funk and Wagnalls define as crude, for the definition--the hierarchical social (and published) definition (which, to my own over- developed conscious, is substandard in the whole of things)--is created by the hands of these men (but are Funk and Wagnalls men, or are they only names, only definitions of this elite group of definers?) But it seems that definitions are (just) words that define, and these (just) words are (just) words that must be defined as well; a not (mystic) definition. And as I search, I search not not not in vain for this light that will show me the way; I do indeed find it, and as my mission is subjugated--whether unconsciously or not unconsciously--it creates a new and uncharted circumstance (mystic). I sit in a room that I have entered, entered before, and wait this time for my deeds to be done, (for this deed is involuntarily motivated from the bowels of my inner being) and as I sit on cold porcelain (as Funk and Wagnalls might have done), as if by some divine intervention, as if the answer had fallen upon my lap, on top of my Farmer's Almanac that is on top of my bare thighs,a question is answered. My eyes meander, as my legs once did from dark dream to light, to the roll. To my demise, the definition of crude is redefined:

Crude is three sheets of cotton to a roll of cardboard.



Thursday, February 20th, 2003
Subject: oh boy.
Time: 10:58 pm.
Mood: lkf353405sdfkasdf;as..
Music: none. none.

i want to tell you how i really feel. but i am too passive.



Tuesday, February 18th, 2003
Subject: effin snow.
Time: 12:34 pm.
Mood: indescribable.
Music: nick cave. love letter.

i'm too sensitive. even the snow has made me sad. on another note altogether i'd like to text that i am happy that i don't make plans. though aggravating to others it saves me aggravation when the plans fall through. i.e. my trip to new york which was suppose to start yesterday. the weather gods are against me. i took this week off a month ago, and here i am listening to records and ink painting. jenny jones on mute in the background. should i start reading the old farmer's almanac? i can say that these days i'm not happy. but i did get a manicure the other day. and i must admit it made me giggle, because it's the most ludicrous thing i've done in months. i made them paint my nails a flesh tone color. i am a bird. when march comes maybe this stress with go away maybe it shift like fault line layers and i'll want to say a big fuck you to new york and i'll move to somewhere warm. did i mention i am trying to build a relationship. and it's hard. just like i remembered it to be.



Thursday, February 6th, 2003
Subject: so my aunt drinks...
Time: 10:24 pm.
Mood: stressed.
Music: gillian welch. elvis presley blues.

and sometimes calls when she is well on her way to being shit faced. and every suspicion i have about my mother's regards on me leaving this town and my over active lunacy for living a life as an artist is confirmed. and my mother has this guilt that she harbors around with a smile. she is a better actor than i. i know she doesn't want me to leave. but she will never say it. and i know she wants me to wear suits and work in a cubicle, grocery shop every tuesday and drive a blue mini van for the rest of my life. in this town. but she will never say it. and this seems so typically banal. i need a fancy metaphor to make this all too common story seem sassy.

and. leave michael jackson alone.

and. i gave work my notice.



Sunday, February 2nd, 2003
Subject: sunday.
Time: 10:07 pm.
Mood: anxious.
Music: gillian welch. revelator.

a list of things. sans grammatical parallelism.

homecoming queen.
flat a accent.
wanting to be a maggie may.
never skied.
emmy lou harris.
insecure.
owning a fashionable metallica tee.
a phase of wearing men's fruit of the loom.
wet tampons to ceilings.
murphy's.
willis.
blood clot.
queen of the foul shot.
published poem.
one play.
skinner speech.
bad posture.



Saturday, February 1st, 2003
Subject: boo.
Time: 10:29 pm.
Music: the jesus and mary chain. sometimes always.

my arm hurts. i am going to cry.



Friday, January 31st, 2003
Subject: gah.
Time: 8:41 am.
Mood: sad.
Music: wilco. i am trying to break your heart.

i don't like to wake up. in fact, i don't like going to sleep simply because i know i am going to wake up eventually. why does it often take thirty minutes for my right arm to shake the pins and needles?



Subject: blind date.
Time: 12:41 am.
Mood: giggly.
Music: cat power. metal heart.

these turds use lines that are so funny. it made me think of that time jeff wanted to smooch and he told me to "seize the day." and i'm still friends with that fucker. fancy that.