keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side

okay. not once, but TWICE, fecking blogger ate my posts about my wonderful tuesday night. is there something in there that i wasn't supposed to say? well, let's go over the facts:

* i went here for the first time since childhood, when i saw the christmas show with tara and our families.

* i saw this, a collective o' musicians featured on the oh, brother, where art thou? soundtrack, singin' bluegrass and "old-timey" country music. yes, it was a baptist soul revival. delmer from the film sang "in the jailhouse now," the fucking coen brothers were dans the audience, thanks (no doubt frances mcdormand as well!). the young black guitar player who sold his soul to the devil in the film was also there, as well as the sweet peasall sisters and the illustrious allison krauss, emmylou harris (!) and patty loveless, to name a few. amazing doesn't sum it up.

* i went to the aforementioned show avec katie and her papa, after meeting him at the penn station rotunda, eating yummy food and chugging pints o' bitter at an irish pub, and hauling ass through the neon metropolis that i have loved my whole life. on the way, katie said that she wouldn't be surprised if we saw mike gordon.* of course she meant she wouldn't be surprised if we saw him playing, since he loves the bluegrass and is known to strum a banjo now and again.

well, i'll be damned. i'm not two feet in the fucking lobby and guess who's standing right next to me? yes, that's right -- mike gordon. you don't understand. it was too much. i needed such serendipity, and to be honest, i needed to see mike.**

* if you know me at all, you know i'm a phish fan, and you might know that mike is the bassist, and that i adore him. i'm known among my touring friends as That Chick who loves mike gordon. and i have an uncanny ability of running into him at ev'ry show i want to. strange, since i've been to over twenty.

** i think he probably needed to see me, too. heh.

fuck fuck fuck.

i just lost a great post. more later.

i am a beautiful and unique butterfly

i am focusing on making the good choices. on not making the bad choices. on working towards, not running from.

i am focusing on faith, and on positivity. striving towards, becoming. not undoing or unraveling.

i am focusing not on what i have lost, but what i have had and continue to have, what i will have in the future and actually giving myself a chance to be proved right.

fuck linear time and those small dimensions, i have all the time in the world. baby steps. oh, the biggest baby steps i have ever taken. letting little moments last longer. knowing that i am loved. from many directions, knowing that i am safe and even those who keep their distance haven't forgotten. they're just taking space. i need space.

i want to believe. i want to be in the palm of god's hand.

and another him said, "not one moment of doubt, marie, not one moment of doubt"

so tonight i finally saw d. it was pretty uneventful, i felt more welcomed by the friends that were at his house, j. and p. we went to see the royal tenenbaums, and it was pretty good. he definitely wasn't chomping at the bit to see me, he didn't seem ruffled by my presence in any positive way, i had the feeling that he didn't miss me so much. i was quiet, not in an embittered way, but simply in a quiet way. i think this surprised him. i won't stop missing that closeness, and i won't stop wanting it, but i will stop wondering if i will ever see him again and i will focus on making myself better for all purposes. i have to admit that having a relationship with him again is one of these purposes. i feel nothing from him, anymore, and it is so hard, so fucking hard, to shut myself down. it's something i'm not capable of. but i'm fully aware that everyone around him sees a different story: his cynical best friend j. loves me a lot, and definitely sees us as more together than d. does. he sees things that d. doesn't see. the whole world seems to, except for maybe pockets of dangersluts in argentina -- but they don't fucking matter anyway. i have patience, and i am a damned good girl and beautiful and special and i am not going anywhere.

i have faith in these feelings, faith in myself. i have faith that this love is what is right, no matter what, and i know it doesn't seem right for me to be saying that, but i know. i won't let it mire me in misery anymore, and it really hasn't as it has in the past. i can only maintain my own integrity and self-respect, and i wouldn't have any if i didn't admit these things were true.

i've built walls
a fortress deep and mighty
that none may penetrate
i have no need of friendship
friendship causes pain
it's laughter and it's loving i disdain

don't talk of love
well i've heard the word before
it's sleeping in my memory
i won't disturb the slumber
of feelings that have died
if i never loved i never would have cried

i have my books
and my poetry to protect me
i am shielded in my armor
hiding in my room
safe within my womb
i touch no one and no one touches me

i am a rock
i am an island
and a rock feels no pain
and an island never cries

return to innocence

yesterday was a pretty busy day. it was snowing large chunks of matter in the morning, the kind of snow that is pretty to look at but i knew wouldn't last. i went and had coffee with alex and then we experienced the joy of the coinstar machine at the supermarket -- it's amazing how much money just a little change turns out to be -- and then we went to the mall, where alex got a haircut and i got these pants and some sox with hearts on them at old navy. yes, i know, i'm a hypocrite, but trust me, i've stolen probably about as much merchandise from them as i've ever purchased...

anyway it was a good enough day. i finally banged out a final(ish) resume, at least one final enough to give to alex to give to his boss at the place where he tutors, where he has been trying to get me to apply for months. i also wrote a cover letter. i have a problem with those things. i mean, i'd be tutoring students on the PSAT and SAT, so of course it is relevant that i got a 700 on my writing exam and i was a national merit commended scholar and what not, but i have a hard time self-promoting without feeling like a total dweeb. so he's going to give her the resume/cover letter today, and hopefully soon i'll be supplementing my pretty much nonexistent waitressing income with occasional $25-per-hour tutoring stints. even four a week would be like, a hundred bucks, and i'm sure i'll be doing more than that. plus, i may just be teaching rich kids how to do well on the SAT, but at least i get to share things i am good at. when hired, i plan on making a handout of vocabulary words every week and greek and latin roots the kids NEED to know if ever they plan to have a decent vocabulary.

and fyi, that kid didn't come home yesterday. i know he's here now, he has to be -- landed a couple of hours ago, either reaching home now via a shuttle or something, either planning on calling me or not -- why am i thinking about this? it matters less and less. and strength has been coming from the strangest of places. i find myself less expectant, less hopeful, less needy in general, more resigned to doing the kinds of things i've always dreaded doing. not sad-resigned, just kind of get-on-with-it resigned.

not to say -- i don't love him. because i do. but love means something else now. it is something i can do from afar, something i will carry like a promise or an amulet or a thing of power. something i will keep safe. something that is mine, this love i have. this love i have for him.

and why jonathan cainer is swiftly becoming my favorite astrologer -- i mean, check this out --

The ring is powerful. It will corrupt all who hold it. Only someone pure of heart can carry it to the mountain and cast it into the crack of doom. In the story book, this task fell to a hobbit. Here in the real world only Scorpios have the necessary moral fibre to perform such a difficult deed. In your own way now you are dodging dark riders and avoiding evil for the sake of a better world for all. And in this quest, you cannot and will not fail. Events today should demonstrate this.

this is like what i tell myself to get to sleep at night, in other terms. i am brave, i am honorable, i will not fail!

corporate hijinks

ha ha!

i'm moody this morning, as you can probably tell, and so i'm in the mood to fuck with corporations and get free things from them, because why not?

now, i have worked in restaurants and retail, and i know, the customer is always right, no matter how bitchy and/or demanding they are, in fact, sometimes, they're *more* right the more bitchy and demanding they are.

so i'm emailing and calling all these corporate places, demanding free food based on miserable experiences. i'll let you know how it goes. i have a particular bone to pick with pizza hut, because once the ghetto ass locale down the street gave me a small pizza in a large box (i ordered a large) and the customer service bitch was NO HELP. so if i have any success, i'll post the necessary numbers and links and tricks. haha.

today a certain boy is supposed to come home. i don't know if that means his flight is tonight and he's coming here tomorrow, or if his flight was last night and he's coming here today. probably the former.

but if it is today, that means he landed at jfk merely moments ago. i'm working all day, from 11 to 9 -- tomorrow, a good distraction from the whole situation. what am i distracting myself from? he still has things that are mine, at his house. things he wouldn't give me until he got back. things i left there.

did he kiss his goodbyes, or did he say them? is he doing that right now, or tonight, or last night? how many hours have i passed while he's been with someone else, or has he? i wouldn't know, since i haven't heard from him at all.

it's time for more job searching. distraction, distraction, distraction.

perils of the lush life
or, how did i end up kissing that boy?

i started this morning with a rousing puke-a-thon. the contents of my stomach were emptied into the toilet around ten-thirty this morning. last night i had a bit to drink: two white russians and five beers, to be exact. i guess that was too much.

and i ended up smooching a boy that i would NEVER HAVE SMOOCHED if i had been sober. eegads. i've been doing the walk of shame in my own head all day. at least it didn't move beyond the car. i mean, this kid, to put it nicely, is a total dillettante. not that it's such a turn off -- he's a fop, i'm a victorian spinster. but he's INFURIATING and i don't find him attractive, just goofy and annoying, and our friends would make fun of us and they'd be right!

but i have to admit, he's a pretty good smewcher.

my dog lucy was very cute and winsome as i hurled chunks. she ran-tapped her fuzzy little ass to the door of the bathroom and observed me puking, looking concerned and cocking her little head (she's a cocker spaniel, so i have to say "cock"). and when i finished puking my guts out, she sat on the side of the couch and patiently waited until i had covered myself in a blanket and tapped for her to jump up on me until actually doing so. usually she immediately jumps on me before i'm even done sitting down, landing directly on my gut and kissing me. instead she gently hopped up near my feet and laid her warm little head on my ankles, looking at me woefully and sweetly.

see why i love dogs?

nb: since i have functional archives, i'm gonna do the one day posting thing again. if you wanna see what you missed, you know where to look.

karen has a livejournal. go check it out. she's even in a band now, called sugarblush, which is a rocking cool name, and she writes a hella lot there, and i don't know how i missed it after reading her forever and shite, and being like, girl never updates anymore! but she's obviously at lj. duh. so that is the new linky at the side.

um, i have a livejournal. i have a username which is very cool and very me, but i hesitate to share right now because:

a> the current (elderly as hell) entries are scary-psychotic and dealing with boys, more so than here even!

b> the colors are ugly and make it all unreadable.

but i think i'm going to make it functional sooner or later, esp. now since one requires a code. i like the lj community better than the diaryland community, although sometimes less. but i like the diaryland password vs. lj friendslist options. feh. yes, i am thinking about writing entries so slanderous they would require passwords! lands alive!

and oh my god, this is hysterical. seriously, i laughed out loud. bess is a crackhead, for real.

in other news, my friends have been really helpful about my resume. tara has already started rewriting it, thanks, and my brother has provided me with amazing advice, as has the ever-mysterious ben.

i want to go visit ben, sometime soon. it's just a hop skip n a jump away, pennsylvania is. and it's been oh so long! i haven't seen ben in probably the longest amount of time since i've known him! for shame!

ah do love mah ben.

if you can see this post, it means you can read the incredibly confusing addendums below as well as the updated version of the thing below.

and you, um, should.

feeling empty at twenty four*

the dog will bark if someone's
at the door. not so long ago
i used to hope, baby,
that someone would be you.

fresh off the plane from argentine
in my dream, you went back.
and everything was fine.
you hardly looked at me, baby,
didn't say a word.
oh my heart wasn't broken, baby,
i swear i hardly heard.

you seemed ashamed of yourself
in general, not just with me.
what are you ashamed of, baby?
you know i can see.
you know it isn't enough?
you know you're not enough?
you don't love me when times are tough?
or is it because you knew
you'd let me down?

did you ever try harder?
why are we still here?
if you never tried harder,
then why are you still here?
i don't believe you tried harder
anyplace except in your ideals.

you tried hard enough to make excuses.
you tried hard enough to say "i tried,"
to look like you tried to all your fans.
but your dogs howl when i come around.
they love me like i'm never coming back.
well, you could take a lesson from them.
even they know it's over this time for good.

with you around,
girls like me
turn into girls like this.
you take
girls like me
and you turn them
into girls like this.

you said "i think i love you
but i'm an asshole."
you shook your head when you said
"someday i'll disappoint you."
and you were right,
but i stayed anyway.
you said you were "addicted"
and i think i was too. addicted to you.
not because you were good, but because
you pretended to be.
not because you were really good,
but because you pretended to be.
for the sake of me.

oh, you said you were addicted
and i'd be lying if i didn't say i was too
addicted to
afflicted by
you.

*in honor of the tori lyrics i blatantly stole these from, the sequel to heart attack at 23

i don't mind if my art makes me cringe. in fact, i require that it does if i am to take it at all seriously. and of course i expect it to make other people cringe, too. feel implicated. especially those it should. especially those i know. of course. then again, the first and foremost thing is that, yes, art is about convincing other people, but at the base level, the level of creation, the root level, the moment before, it is about convincing yourself. how can i expect anyone to believe me if i do not believe myself?

why i like tori amos, or, why ice cream men are always evil (tara really needs to share the true story of why, thanks)

1> i always have to turn her songs up as much as they require, which usually makes them really loud, every time i'm listening to them, which predicates me even routinely audially hallucinating my brother calling me loudly from outside my bedroom, as if the phone is for me, during a specific part in one of her songs, thanks.

2> everything she touches is mystical. i mean, look at the songs she chooses to cover. she brings to the song what she already hears and loves: what is inherently mystical about them is nonetheless touched, however, by her, forever, making them beyond question, a la phish.

3>she is her own hype. she truly believes in the worlds she sings about, the things she says, the things she does. if she didn't believe in herself, why should i believe in her? i am certain there will never be a teary and regretful and altogether uncomfortable VH-1 TORI AMOS: BEHIND THE MUSIC about her, where she wears a fuzzy tracksuit and endures painful clips of herself all coked up and making a scene, a la courtney love. see, courtney love is another hero, because, as apologetic as she can sometimes be, she is not like this either. they have the clips but you'll never catch her undermining herself, she'll just be like, dood, i did what i did, and i had a great time doing it, thanks, no matter how fucked up i was. i still meant it at the time.

that is what i call integrity.

4> she reads diane wakoski, as evidenced by this lyric from spark:

if the Divine master plan is perfection
maybe next i'll give Judas a try
trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin
here, here, here

um, "ice cream assassin," much? gee, any relation to the emperor of ice cream? perhaps he is just one of the emperor's minor operatives, but he hails from the same kingdom nonetheless. i like the way tori deals with the anxiety of influence here --

e> she is obviously the bardess assigned to my tribe. i know this because of lyrics like these, which hail from Y KANT TORI READ, thanks, and i am thinking aren't even real because they are so overly-significant and not even abstract when in regard to my life, thanks:

sirens wake me up
wake me up
with a cry*
things we do
for attention...**
just a little
reminder dear
i am still alive***

so confused
i almost threw
it all away
for you****
you took me higher
and you dropped
me lower
than i've ever been
before*****

CHORUS:
if i have a heart attack
at 23
i'm loving you too much
if i have a heart attack
at 23******
wave bye-bye
you'll miss me
you'll miss me baby
if i have a heart attack
at 23

all my friends
we waste so
much love
on our men
why can't i
be forgiving
while he been out
a-messin'
with his argentine baby*******

REPEAT CHORUS

i must be dreaming
we were together
in a
land of scarlet ribbon
that tied you to me darlin'
roll roll roll roll on
but you know i'm never
satisfied
with all the good things
in my life
i thought i needed you
to be strong
i'll still miss you
when i'm gone*********

REPEAT CHORUS

repeat chorus, indeed.

*in fact, they're so overly significant, i can't even bear to go into them right now, but i have clearly marked the parts where they become overly so. look, i'm honest, but being this honest would be incriminating myself on far too many levels with absolutely no artistic merit. however, i will clarify that although i am awakened every morning by the gothic revival catholic church up the street, our lady of sorrows, thanks, ringing church bells to signal the hour, i used to be roused by my town's siren-blaster thingy doing the same thing, when i lived closer to south orange village. either way, even this simple detail does not escape tori's grasp. hence the first *. if you really need further clarification, feel free to ask, but expect to be seriously freaked out.

woo. i tweaked my resume a bit and got it down to one page and made it a little more interesting and well-laid-out. seriously, i am TERRIBLE at this kind of technical writing. i also sent my resume to one place that sounds pretty darned interesting for immediate consideration. woo hoo!

d. is coming home on the 21st. i think that might mean he's actually getting home the morning of the 22nd. i'm terrified he's going to tell me that he spent all this love-time with that horrid actriz girl and that he will have slept with her and have syphilis or rickets or some other nasty disease. but i can't let myself freak out about it, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we? isn't it sad, though, how boys are terrified of girls that actually mean something to them, they want the most simple, obvious, annoyingly bland girls they can find? i mean, granted, this girl is extremely attractive and what not, but she's common. she's not all that intelligent, she is narcissistic and money-hungry and desperate for a showbiz break. basically, she's NOT ME.
which makes her suck, thanks.

okay, i already did some laundry this morning and searched several online classifieds for job listings that are actually relevant to me. i found a couple more interesting things, one strangely close to my dream of having elaine benes' job of writing descriptions in the j peterman catalog, although not nearly as glam. i emailed my hack-job half-assed resume to bess, who forwarded it to richie. i also sent it to tara and my little brother. my brother wrote me back the most inspiring and helpful message which will certainly help me tailor my resume.

i went to the mall last night. and i'm such a goof. i bought not a single thing for myself, instead i bought a little doggie tee shirt that says "gorgeous" on it for teeny weeny baby, who is leaving us soon, and a rad bug toy for my dog lucy, which she is currently snuggled up with under a blanket upstairs. i also bought my mom a victoriana calendar, since she's into that.

now i have to get off of the computer and watch martha!

with surgical focus
she stared at me and said
"i'm willing to reach out,
get in to your head
and i will keep you
and cleanse you"
she glared at me and wept
"a change is not going to hurt you,
not this time"

and i've been waiting in line for this
now that it's taken forever
i insist
until i get it, i can't breathe
climbing high upon the rocky cliffs
we fly
with surgical focus*

*mad props to law-ra for giving me this and fifteen other songs which have changed my life. also, significantly, a certain boy in her life and a certain boy in mine could do with giving this song about a million thousand gajillion listens. law-ra just KNOWS.

me israelites*

i had a great, soul-energizing weekend. bess** summed it up nicely. it was wonderful to see her. my local friends obliged without even realizing it by all being in the same place at the same time and allowing me to introduce them all to each other, creating the vibe of us just hanging out in hannah and alex's apartment that i wanted to share with bess since i am never quite able to explain it. having her here made me grateful for what i have, made me realize that all the stupid boys in the world and their love or lack thereof cannot ever undermine the joy that is inherent in having amazing friends. friends who are like family but better in a way, because they are chosen, or, in bess' case, chosen for you in an allegedly "random" college room draw, with all the happy serendipity of my genetically "random" assignment of the most amazing brother in the world. in other words, i believe that i am back to that place of being blessed, and i never left it to begin with.

what also helped was driving home the other night and listening to a slew of righteous reggae and black panther power diatribes on my favorite wbai show, midnight ravers. i got to hear mumia abu-jamal, amiri baraka, and my personal hero, angela davis, remind me that in addition to being a wannabe poet, i am also a fucking revolutionary who would die to stop the corruption that currently exists in our prison systems, who will die with dreadlocks and a septum piercing and the tree of life tattooed at the base of my spine, probably shot down by the police, if it means i can empower my generation, the poor, the angry, the forgotten, the "surplus population", the imprisoned, the downtrodden, those who survive on faith and dignity and i would die for that, yes i would. and yes, it does come down to the reggae music for me, as well. i have been listening to a lot of reggae lately, and although i always have, i find that lately i want to listen to nothing else. music is and always has been the closest thing i have to a religion, live music is the closest thing i have to a church, or a baptist revival.

the whole past week reminded me of what i have always believed in: self-empowerment, justice, faith. shit, i have spent so much time being depressed in the past few years that i have forgotten my blessings, i have forgotten that the first and most obvious way out of depression is to realize how blessed you are by helping those less fortunate, those less empowered, those not privileged enough to sit in classrooms and debate justice. i used to be so much better: tutoring kids in newark, being a camp counselor for the same kids. i refuse to be useless anymore, sitting down and feeling sorry for my own spoiled blessed ass is a waste of life, a waste of time. I'M A REBEL, SOUL REBEL.

i have faith in you, my generation, i have faith in my midnight ravers, please don't let me down...

happy news: my friend katie's notoriously independent brother bob, the international geologist of mystery, is marrying his adorable japanese girlfriend, AND HE'S GONNA BE A DADDY! so call me racist or whatever, but i will soon have a beautiful eurasian baby to fuss over. i point this out only because i think eurasian babies and babies of tawny mixed race are inherently cuter and more beautiful than the rest of us, for whatever reason, except for fat babies who wear glasses of any race. and katie is sure the wee bairn will be a girl. heh.

can't tell the woman from the man, no i say you can't
cause they're dressed in the same pollution
their mind is confused with confusion
with their problems since there's no solution

they become the midnight ravers
someone say please don't let me down
midnight ravers, midnight ravers
please don't let me down, down, down, down
don't let me down
don't let me down

i see ten thousand chariots
and they coming without horses
the riders they cover their face
so you couldn't make them out in smokey places
in that musical stampede where everyone's doing their thing
musical stampede, people swinging
musical stampede

i've become a night-life raver
and i'm begging you please don't let me down
night-life ravers, night-life raver
please, please don't let me down
don't let me down
don't let me down

in that musical stampede
some preacher say
people ride on
people riding
midnight ravers, ride on

*i'm referring to desmond dekker's classic song. cause my friends are a bunch of righteous wandering types filled with faith and JAH LOVE. "after a storm, there must be a calm / if you catch me in your farm, you sound your alarm / poor, me israelites / poor, me israelites, i'm a wandering, a working so hard / poor, me israelites..."

**normally i would link to bess but you have to email her to find out her new site address, thanks.

okay, okay. i know you're saying to yourself, enough with the fucking memes, marie, but how could you expect me to resist a test that determines which dead rockstar i am? especially if these are the results:

Life of the party, you're Shannon Hoon - everyone's favorite hippie.

Test made by
morphina


Take the ' which dead rockstar ' are you, test, here!

dood, i love shannon hoon. only better would have been if bradley biscuit was my second answer instead of jimi. don't get me wrong, i love jimi. but it just makes less sense to me. then again, who am i to question such an oracle?

so our little adventure tonight with the boys was fun. when they were being naughty i called them all wicked and when we were walking back to the car i said "we're playing a game called roadkill - GET BEHIND THE CAR." mind you, i was talking to two eight year old and two eleven year old boys. but they thought it was funny and ran behind the car and everything. heh. i love kids.
the movie was also really good, and i pretty much refuse to say more about it because my fingers are cold.

bess is coming to visit me tomorrow and i couldn't be happier abeau' the feau'. i spent some time this evening stressing over the messiness of my personal environs, then i remembered, duh. bess was my roommate for like ever. and no, i haven't gotten any better at being neat and i know she loves me anyway.

a strangely productive morning

i went to bed last night at 12:30. this is early, for me. usually i cannot manage to fall asleep at even that hour unless i am drunk or sleeping with someone else, or have not slept for days. a sad truth. however, this morning i am feeling fresh and sprightly and productive. i have already searched the classifieds and made a list of possibilities. unfortunately, the salon i wanted to work in is only looking for those with previous salon experience. what pissed me off was not that, but the fact that the woman i spoke to acted as if it would be impossible for me to ever learn how to time appointments.

but, no matter. next time i will find a way to "dress up" my experience for whatever i want.

for the first time in ages i made myself breakfast. i had scrambled eggs with cheese, toast, tea, and yes, taylor ham.

today i will most likely go to the laundromat and do some laundry in the uberhuge machines as well. i can't explain it, but i love the scary laundromat vibe. at the laundromat i will try to scratch out a resume and watch gameshows with strangers and possibly fax some resumes at the end of this.

oh! and hannah and i have a date tonight! ha ha, not really. we're taking max, age 8, his brother harris, age 11, and harris' friend steven, also age 11, to see lord of the rings. we still haven't seen it yet, and the boys have seen it like five times. max and harris are the little boys that hannah has been nannying for about five years. i've hung out with max before, we went to see atlantis together last summer. he's rad. i've never hung out with harris before, and apparently he is the more bookish of the two, and therefore the most like me. i'm excited. a night out with little kids should be a blast.

ghetto superstar, that is what you are

*** Message (#2) from Silvertone at 06:39 ***
>my best friend's wife had a kid today! i'm like, a godfather or something.

--- Message (#3) to Silvertone at 06:39 ---
-lovely! what is it?

*** Message (#4) from Silvertone at 06:40 ***
>a baby!

--- Message (#5) to Silvertone at 06:41 ---
-duh, silly!
-what kind of parts does it have?

*** Message (#6) from Silvertone at 06:42 ***
>oh, it's a girl.
>*heh* sorry. i love that joke.

--- Message (#7) to Silvertone at 06:42 ---
-yay
-baby girls rool the world

--- Message (#8) to Silvertone at 06:43 ---
-hopefully, someday i will have a shorty with my nonexistent boo
-i want a tawny-colored shorty thugged out baby boy i can force cornrows and
-velvet tracksuits upon at a young age

*** Message (#11) from Silvertone at 06:44 ***
>*LAUGH* that's hilarious. oh my god. bj gave me the top half to a goldenrod
>velvet tracksuit.

--- Message (#13) to Silvertone at 06:44 ---
-rrrah!
-crushed velvet tracksuit.
-i'm serious.
-i will be such a ghetto fabulous mama one day.

a random babbling aside that deals with actual existence

tonight i went to the gaslight brewery with hannah, alex, and craig. it's our local brewpub that has horrible beers we mostly refuse to drink. tonight, for instance, al bought us pirate pale ale and he was like "ugh, marie, does this taste like vomit to you?" because i was drinking the same thing. frankly, it did taste like vomit to me. but the gaslight is all dark and gargoyle-infested and is inhabited by a mean viking bartender and a good jukebox and a turtle named daphne. also the guest beers are pretty good. it was a quiet night out, meaning the four of us hung out by the corner of the bar and made each other laugh about inane things, as per usual.

and a new paragraph because i am so trifling, this is the highlight of my lame night: apparently chris and diego have been calling alex from argentina. alex said that they were very general, said they were having fun, but that they were trying to get their dad's email to work so that they could email people. allegedly it hasn't been working since their arrival.

okay, i guess this is mildly comforting, but last year the kid was emailing me from a random internet cafe in BA. can't complain, though. well, actually, i can and AM and WILL. but it makes me feel a tad better. especially because...oh, nevermind. if you want to know the supersekrit evil witchy thing i did you'll just have to ask me. and i may not even tell you. but i probably will cave eventually.

and because i'm feeling like a data entry queen, something i wrote in my paper journal tonight whilst simultaneously watching the michael jackson special on cbs and the american music awards, featuring michael jackson

there are wild dusty redneck children
running about in the yard
they're playing with shards of glass
and pissing shamelessly
on the sides of trailers

just the sight
of michael jackson
has been known
to kill the japanese

let us come out of hiding!
catharsis is the bounty of war.
it's the clash of the titans
all over again.

don't take a picture
i don't come cheap
i'm not for keeps
oh, baby, don't take a picture
it steals my soul

some wild children
are playing ring-around-the-rosy
in the graveyard. at the stroke
of midnight she will rise and
she will work so hard for it
honey that you better treat
her right.

i feel like i forget everything
because i am always
remembering something
i forgot --

see michael jackson
as he glows with power
he's a white lighter
a jedi skyfighter

oh the japanese are taking pictures
and sacrificing souls
watch them go!
trick ponies and mad hatters
crowd to see because
this is thriller, thriller night
and no one's gonna save you
from the beast about to
strike, you know...

and, an embarrasingly sexual poem which just proves how obsessed i am with the almighty fuck

every time he lays with me
and pulls me to him,
soothing me with his soft heat,
his velvet mouth,
his stark arousal --

we are equals.
he cannot take me to heaven
but i can watch him go.
i lay in purgatory
with my mouth open.
he floats above me
and he is the bringer
of the precious nectar
i have sought, he feeds me
ambrosia straight
from the fountain --

another new one with some recycled imagery and sundry hysteria

dear muse:

we both knew
this was coming.
someday i would lose faith
in you, become jealous
of other poets, become silent
and lose your stories.

i am sick of watching.
i have sat next to you, urania,
on a sliver of crescent moon,
blowing bubbles that look like stars.

terspichore, we danced the tango
when you were rita hayworth
down some stairs on wheels
with fred astaire.

callisto, we emptied our wrists
together by the banks of the styx,
which was cloudy and full of the limbs
of fallen heroes, floating like buoys,
exclamation points, commas.

mnemsonye, mother of memory,
we sat and knitted scarves
for the fates, grave blankets
for the ever-departed,
who remain in us as rooted
as hairs, little tangling hooks --

so what more do you want,
you malicious fickle shrews,
you malignant harpies?
you giggling auroras,
how i miss
your constant chattering in my ear --

a poem i wrote in my paper journal sometime last week

the world is full of
beautiful people,
beautiful people
who are always wrong.

so hum an elegy
in honor
of their good intentions.

they were pure of heart.
there are stars in their eyes.
but they just can't decide.

constellations of track marks
wound her like stars.
the rings of saturn
jangle at her hips.
she smokes the moon
into dust. there's a fever

under her fingernails.
she scratches at the card.
she exposes you.

so, here's my big jersey secret.

i want to be a hairdresser/makeup artist.

not for my whole life, see. just a little while. you know, the way some girls wanna be a ballerina and a doctor and the president? it's like that. in the meantime, i'm a little excited because i found a position for a receptionist at a nearby salon. the salon vibe is so fucking cool, man. i'm all about the constant reinvention.

if i'm good, if they hire me, maybe they'll let me sweep up hair!*

*sadly, i'm not even kidding about this. i like sweeping!

jane says
"i'm done with sergio
he treats me like a ragdoll"

she hides
the television
says "i don't owe him nothing,
but if he comes back again
tell him to wait right here for me or,
try again tomorrow"

i'm gonna kick tomorrow...
i'm gonna kick tomorrow...

jane says
"i'm going away to spain
when i get my money saved
i'm gonna start tomorrow"

jane says
"I've never been in love - no"
she don't know what it is
she only knows if someone wants her
"I only know they want me..."

so i'm in the process of finding another job/writing my resume. i used to be so anti-office slave, but i'm not so much that way now. in fact, the idea of waking up the same time every day and working five days a week and having a normal paycheque and oh my god, health benefits is looking mighty appealing to me. i just don't get enough hours at my current job, and that sucks. i need the money.

also, all my friends are doing it, so why can't i? they're amazing girls, and even though bess isn't eating today, she will soon, and tara has enough money left over to buy shoes. heh!

oh, my new favorite band is rasputina. seriously. they fucking rock. ladies' cello society, founded in brooklyn, anyone? i love their bitter victoriana, as well as their cover of one of my favorite velvet underground/nico songs, and melora's collage art is to die for. oh yeah, and the jokes had me laughing my ass off. call me sick, but i personally find uterine plugs funny:

"Can you tell that I'm FULL of hate? My golden uterine plug is the only thing keeping it in!"

"The beauty of the uterine plug is the way it plugs the uterus when it's trying to escape. Gotta love that!"

"We can barely stand living in a world that so celebrates computers and ignores completely the inventor of the uterine plug. He must have been a great man indeed; kind of inward looking."

because my sweet tara said i should leave more posts on this page, in case she "misses something." and the idea of being missed makes me happy. so here you go tara, since i can't figure out my archives anyway.

Love came down
when we were high.
The stars were fixed.
A crescent moon.
It could have been anyone.
Instead it was you.

And you say:
“Do you like the way
I split you in half?
Roll you over
And smack your ass?
Do you like the way
I make you scream?
Don’t get attached, girl
to empty dreams.”

There are a million faces
We only see a few.
Just a matter of fortune
That my eyes fell on you.
Oh, nothing but gypsy candy
And wishing for something true.
Just a matter of ill fortune, boy
Tricked me into loving you.*

*see note below.

Another long night.
Suitcases still packed.
I haven’t gone anywhere.
Waiting for you to come back.

Baby, the witching hour knows me
better than I know myself.
All night I hum this dull nocturne
'Cause I can't help myself.

The night and I are sisters.
My blood is shaped like stars.
Moondust coats my ribcage
And black holes are my scars.

And my sister never lies to me.
I hear her hum and moan.
She says you're prowling the streets
with another while I'm alone.

And you don’t even see her.
But she takes up the whole sky.
As we speak she’s staring down at you
Through milky blinded eyes.*

*lately i'm like going through this bad lyrical song poetry wannabe bob dylan phase. i apologize.

you know, that women never really faint
and that villains always blink their eyes
and that, you know, children are the only ones who blush
and that life is just to die

but anyone who ever had a heart
oh, they wouldn't turn around and break it
and anyone who's ever played a part
oh, they wouldn't turn around and hate it

so i'm in tara's basement right now. not the basement of her apartment in brooklyn, obviously, but her tribal home. as in where she grew up, in maplewood, new dirty jerz.

here is my gripe of the moment, something i have managed not to write about thus far (it's been something like ten days, which is pretty much a record for me, thaaaanks...)

would it kill the kid to write me a fucking hello email? would it kill him to respond to what i've written him? yesterday when chris and jesse left for argentina, i told chris, "tell your brother to write me a fucking email, or a fucking postcard." i mean, i collect postcards, so that would be cool, but damn. i mean, last year he wrote me every day until he went to the beach and had no internet access, then he wrote me like five letters in one day, responding to what i had written him in the absence.

look, i'm not expecting a phone call, even. i just want a what's up, how are you. i don't want a detailed explanation of everything he's been up to, i don't want to know if he's fucking his groupie actriz who he himself told me was pretty much a gold-digging fuck-her-way-to-the-top kinda girl. i don't care.

but it makes me feel crappy that i don't even get an "i'm here, i'm safe, even though the country is in serious overhaul and i am in the centro of it all, dans buenos aires." it hurts. a lot.

yeah, i have feelings for him i should have gotten over a long time ago. and i have pretty much accepted that no matter what i do, no matter how happy i am without him, or, for that matter, no matter how much he tells me that he doesn't want anything with me i am not going to stop feeling how i'm feeling. and i've stopped expecting him to make up for that, i've realized it is mostly my issue and not his, i've realized that he will go on being inconsistent until the end of time and no matter what his feelings are, he will not acknowledge them. this i know. this i expect.

but it hurts not to hear anything, because i know he thinks of me. that's the rub, really -- and i know that as much as i'm the kind of person who wants to stay and fight, hash everything out to its bitter end (i used to think i was a coward, too afraid to let go, too afraid of change, but now i've chosen to see that behavior as passionate, faithful, and infinitely forgiving to a probable fault). but this one, kids. well, it's pretty much his move, because i'm not going to beg him to be my friend. i'm not going to beg the kid to partake in the joy our friendship can bring, the wisdom and conversations we can only have together. i'm not going to cut my losses, either. i'm going to go on loving him, wishing him well, and feeling sorry for him, because for some reason, being loved and respected and having someone deeply care for you and want the best for you at whatever cost to themselves isn't something he's interested in.

sad for him. not sad for me.

blah blah blah.

i guess it's time to tell the story of new year's, right?

well, on sunday hannah and cindy and baby and i drove to the poconos. we got there incredibly late and also got incredibly drunk.

the actual night of new year's we got incredibly drunk, as well. hannah and i played beer pong (also known as beirut) on a wet bar with a bunch of high school senior boys. i agreed to take a road trip to disneyworld with diego's mother. i missed work the next day. did i mention we got incredibly drunk?

more interestingly, perhaps, at least to me, is this horoscope. because this is exactly what's been on my mind for a while, how to learn how to be innocent and have faith again in the wake of all my heart-crushing traumas and disillusionment.

The cosmic powers have an amusing challenge in store for you in 2002, Scorpio. But don't worry, I'll be laughing with you, not at you, as I watch you wrestle with your dual assignment: 1. Learn how to be innocent again, only on a higher, smarter level than you were earlier in your life. 2. Figure out how you can sincerely muster a fresh, updated capacity for having faith. The new models of both innocence and faith must not be anything like your old ones. You can't cultivate an ironic or distanced relationship with them. They have to work well for the deep, complex, discriminating person you have become.

i didn't bother to make any resolutions this year. it's not that i don't have them, it's just that the idea of formal resolutions isn't really my thing. i like to unravel secrets far more slowly than that. but there are things i want to do. like, for instance, i think i might try to get off my ass and get a non-waitressing Real Job. you know, since i have a degree now and everything. and because i want meaning in my life, i guess. and money. money is good too.