Dear diary

Waiting for what? Waitin for twat 8th grade me asks. Well, just waiting. I don't like to hurry but for when everything in me spills out and I need it now. I tried to buy a diary today. There were no coincidences today. There were no diaries at this shitty Art store, and I am on again off again, and the only thing I'm rushing home to is a different love in an unfeeling house. I finally shoved something inside my rotten little body. I've been quiet for days. Some might threaten, too quiet. I am shutting all of my holes: to breathing, eating, singing, shitting. I am a near empty glob of no exits, no entrances. Even my words have no place to go. That was my diary entry.

just love me

dear diary,

I have the good hair, things on feet to jump run scuffle with

it's a full moon in my head and I keep thinking when's my fullmoon birthday

  2024

I'll be coming on 40

I can't wait to be 40 

we'll kill the teen-in-me by then

  I hope I didn't keep you waiting, or anything hearts

   remember the hearts, how to learn? to make them

it's like somehow, inside

 me already though

what are the chances

that at any given moment someone somewhere is having the same thought as you?
is someone thinking abt driving in a red car through the middlewest with you
or maybe someone somewhere really wants a tunamelt, too

how likely is it that someone has invented you
and someone's laying around
imagining the two of you together
even though you'll never meet
and chances are
you aren't imagining them, at all
or, you don't feel the same way

one of my old boyfriends told me that
I wasn't his type
he told me that he didn't know who she was, this dream girl
that he had never met her
or anyone like her. he just new I wasn't she

when I was 18 I wrote on the cover of my diary
  everyone loves someone who loves someone else who loves someone else who loves someone else
I thought it was pretty poignant at the time
I was listening to a lot of modest mouse
and was dying my hair blonde and wearing white cargo pants

I don't really think abt that anymore
its just degrees
& timing
  aligned for two
and how often that happens, that two times converge
& then go along for awhile
it's probably as frequent as someone
  somewhere
envisioning a red car travel-companion
in shades with the windows down, hands on your knees
who'd love nothing as much
as sharing a tunamelt, too

hurt my feelings

okay so I've been talking to the universe, and

  I think

  I think

it's trying to tell me that Idaho is my beautiful home

  what, something about the countryside

    because I spend time there, in the sagebrush

and I love it when my hands are so dirty

  I look tan,

    cinnamon

and then my car stops working

  because I'm blogging in it while it's raining

   listening to the radio, it's all really good

    smoking 1,000 smokes

and how will we ever get out of here, now?

 that sort of thing.

But of course, I just needed to get jumped

Nickey & I found a secret clubhouse

  in the foothills, it overlooks all of Boise

  in a way that makes it seem

  like it really is a city for trees

one can't see the buildings

it looks like it did when those frenchcanadian people showed up in their beaverskin caps.

why am I so angry

why am I surprised

when people don't like me,

don't want to be my friend.

I want to say a lot of very cruel, inconsequential things

  I want to hurt someone's feelings

   more than mine could ever be

because that's what big men do 

they break one another down

I guess, so I hear

I'm not a pick-on-you

 I'm not a hurter 

  I'm not even a hurtee

like I was, once.

I am thick, I know

 but I still have these knives in me

  and I know they can be good for the stabbing

but I am out of the habit-of-cruel

 and it doesn't come naturally

so I should probably just go to the clubhouse, now

  and be sweet & good

   and forget that love-sadness-regret-anger-hatred cycle

    that I've been riding.

This is a Diary entry

  for no one at all

I just don't know how to write a diary, anymore

  like I don't know how to walk or run

   I just know how to memorize

    and to look hard

     and to feel hard

      

     and I'm forgetting how

to wish

  which is the only good thing I've learned to forget

drill

the password on my diaries

will be published in my diary

the one without the password,

which sounds like a riddle but is not
a popular steroid, may be
or a balance

I've never said this word aloud

I've only ever written it once, in the snow, some night for Nickey

but it melted

and she forgot

which is fine, until she outlives me and is trying to make her fortune

impulse $$$

it was a sad summer

their names were vermilion beard, sad mouth

it was a sad fall

their names were aubergine hair, squishface, eyelashes

it was a sad winter 

their names were eyes

it was a sad spring

their names were hipbones, limbs, flesh

a bag of lemons is a bad sign is a bad notion idea indication

"if someone takes your idea it isn't really yours"-  go to work

"if I am the only one alive I am all of the life"-  go write in your diary

do you remember when we ate mushrooms

and that kanye song, all of the lights 

showed up

and I fell into your sob shoulder

and you asked me to tell you why 

and I said, it just reminds me that everything is as bad as it seems

did you know that kim kardashian has ballooned to 220 lbs since getting pregnant?

that she has ballooned to such proportions that kanye will no longer speak to her?

I read this off a magazine at kmart two weeks ago

when Nickey & I were buying toilet paper

and she desperately wanted a pop tart

so we were looking among the magazine racks for impulse buys

we thought pop tarts would make a pretty good one of those

from black diary,

14 March 2013

drive Oakland - Boise

your actual concerns:

                   What to do

                   Where to go

                   How to be soberish & effective

                   How to seamlessly be rid of my belongings

        & to forget the notions of the Desperate Love

            to be only desperate to begin your life for self

        & to actually fall in love with yourself, Molly Merrill Stoddard

"In their perpetual uncertainty - she of being loved, he of being desired; she of being appreciated, he of being wanted - they drifted bitterly apart." - Baudrillard 

did I die

What's up, I hurt myself again. All I wanted was raw oysters, so I ordered a sauvignon blanc & Gayle cried out, well get the FRENCH one, duh, and then my brother asked her how do you say purple in french and she sort of gave an answer with an accent I could have better done but I've never been in any sort of immersion course, not to say I am a natural, but I can pronounce using the int'l phonetic alphabet, but how hard is it to learn this?

So I got it out, and I started this teen diary to help me forget the confident amazing woman I "am" and so I can just be a heart on legs or on sticks, walkless. Stupidest gusher! I am a jellyfilled sac, emptying of everything allover the sidewalks. I make myself vomit whenever a thought comes in me.

Dear diary, the sun is shiny through me, from windows... oh! the moan from my right! A matutional cry-out? Whence! Alak. Ohhhhhhhhhh kay. so Here, drinking coffee, thinking about the jobs, the jobs, the jobs, the collie dog. And My mind wasn't made for such stuffs.

(12/2/10)

Dear Diary, today I:

Missed someone, exponentialled my own self sexually, lost two games of cribbage, wound around denver with goals, removed the disgusting lavender nailpolish in front of the grocery, pet labs, drank rollingrocks, & coffee, read a beautiful Nabokov, surprised myself in phonecalls