This may be long, I still have four more hours here...
Well, I am at work and, of course, woke up late, was rushed, consequently left my Russian book and my book book at home, (opezdol!), with nothing to read or study, I'm choosing to livejournal, is that a verb, anyway?
Many things have been happening lately. Ben had his appendix out. I got a bright blond wig (strictly for rock shows, dance parties and one night stands). Randall came and went. We had a lovely time together. And soon we'll be back together in New York, which I'm starting to believe is where we're supposed to be. Columbus showed us a good time, though. More on that, later. I always hated in lectures in say, science class in high school when he'd (by he I mean any of those crazy old men who taught me science for four years) say, More on that later, it was always like, God DAMMIT, you mean this has to go on until later, and later consists of you talking about THAT? More on that later, what a shitty promise to make me, to make anyone.
Work sucks, by the way. Camp still has its moments, but this job, this other job makes me want to kill things. Also, I've made up my mind, it's settled, I'm to be a dance third this year. First position, second position, and so on and so forth.
Something we were talking about last night is the fact that I am not in any way addicted to cigarettes. Which is good, which is weird. I never intended to be, and so I'm not, but it isn't that simple, I should be, you know. Everyone else is addicted to cigarettes, and I obviously have an addictive personality, but it's always a conscious decision I make, to smoke, out of want, not necessity. Why do I do it at all, you may ask. Because I like to.
I'm trying to collect my poems and make some little book out of them, so I can actually feel like I've done something with myself and my summer and my stupid notebooks, but the whole process is making me quite tired and sad. I mean, I don't get it, is this how we're supposed to feel? Endlessly nostalgic and bittersweet for time passed, when you didn't even realize, despite how terrible, This is Good.
I saw the Descent and it was terrifying, it really was. I hope, I pray that Pulse is, as well. Yesterday one of my neighbor's cats (she has 8 hundred million) was walking in circles and dragging one of its legs. I thought Atticus was going to have to come shoot it out of its crazy misery, but, no. She's at the vet now, they don't know what's wrong, exactly. Excuse me, middle-aged man with braces and polo shirt, the men's room is out of toilet paper, no, it isn't, there is that thin, cylinderish thing by the toilet, filled, filled to the brim with rolls, just reach in, you can solve this problem on your own, you CAN!
Randall, Emma, and I went to the Ted Leo + the Pharmacists concert the other night. It was INCREDIBLE. They weren't kidding about the charisma of a young Elvis Costello, lemme tell you. We were having the best time, drinking too much, it was hot in there, everyone was so sweaty, life-changing life-changing, HIPSTERS ARE TAKING OVER THE WORLD! Anyway, I went to pee, 50 times per night, and I come back and they are taking to this tall man from Wales claiming to be Ben Lee's guitarist. Yeah right, Emma said. The concert continued, he was kinda cool, this flirty man, suddenly we're standing with Ben Lee and the rest of the band. Oh, okay, we thought. They happened to be playing with Dashboard Confessional and Say Anything the next night and had come to see Ted Leo. After the show, the beautiful, beautiful show, the three of us plus BEN LEE went to meet my Alcoholic friends at some shitty bar on campus, we didn't know it was shitty at the time. Hilariously, amusingly shitty. Ben Lee bought us drinks and told us stories and was charming and fun. He also had a big crush on Emma! Randall informed him this wasn't our scene, he loved that, I asked him if he cared for Dashboard, like an asshole. But it was wonderful, great, thrilling. Ben Lee told me to keep dancing.
Well, I'm not sure about this new season of Project Runway. I'm sad about Bradley! His clothes sucked but he was funny. Also, Angela is giving O-H--I-O! a bad name, so fuck her. My money and heart are on Michael. He's smooth.
Northstar and iced tea for lunch/breakfast (dinner?)-yum! Can we talk, for a minute, about the deliciousness of basil? Oh, wow, I heart basil so much. I'm chewing it now, slowly, so good. Noah's band has been playing a bunch lately. After their show the other night (also at Little Brothers), Emma and I ended up drinking Framboise with Perry at the bar next door. THE Perry Smith. It was a dream come true. Speaking of Noah's musical genius, the Birthday Factory is going to play a show in my treehouse next Friday, maybe the Friday after that. We want there to be picnicking of some sort, BYOBlanket.
Last night, I went to this party thrown by Sarah's (from SLC) queer friends. It was celebrating Lance's recent coming-out announcement, the theme was "One Down, Four to Go." God, gays have the best decorations. And wodka. Peals, peals of laughter. I left a lot of stuff at the Eisenman's and I don't even know what Carl and I sat on the floor in the kitchen and talked about, 3 a.m., but it was all very important.
And here, now, is a poem by the darling and the dear Marie Howe, called "Gretel, from a Sudden Clearing." I don't know, I was slower to warm up to The Good Thief, What the Living Do struck me so much more, but I (re)read this the other night and was so startled that I simply must post it on my el-jay, must hug her hard and sincere when we're all together again at Sadie Lou.
Gretel, from a Sudden Clearing
No way back then, you remember, we decided,
but forward, deep into a wood
so darkly green, so deafening with birdsong
I stopped my ears.
And that high chime at night,
was it really the stars, or some music
running inside our heads like a dream?
I think we must have been very tired.
I think it must have been a bad broken off
piece at the start that left us so hungry
we turned back to a path that was gone,
and lost each other, looking.
I called your name over and over again,
and still you did not come.
At night, I was afraid of the black dogs
and often I dreamed you next to me,
but even then, you were always turning
down the thick corridor of trees.
In daylight, every tree became you.
And pretending, I kissed my way through
the forest, until I stopped pretending
and stumbled, finally, here.
Here too, there are step-parents, and bread
rising, and so many other people
you may not find me at first. They speak
your name, when I speak it.
But I remember you before you became
a story. Sometimes, I feel a thorn in my foot
when there is no thorn. They tell me,
not unkindly, that I should imagine nothing here.
But I believe you are still alive.
I want to tell you about the size of the witch
and how beautiful she is. I want to tell you
the kitchen knives only look friendly,
they have a life of their own,
and that you shouldn't be sorry,
not for the bread we ate and thought
we wasted, not for turning back alone,
and that I remember how our shadows walked
always before us, and how that was a clue,
and how there are other clues
that seem like a dream but are not,
and that every day, I am less
and less afraid.
[transition]
C., I've been thinking about you and drafting a fair, but not unhealthy amount of responses. I'm not sure what to say, yet. I'm here, but give me one more minute?
I love that song Fidelity by Regina Spektor. It is so sweet.
I intended to re-black my hair, but Lawrence and Jane have both said no, no Lauren. So, I dunno. The Heartbreak Orchestra is playing at Vic's tonight and I just may have to go. Ben, will you be well enough? Oh, the other night at the Arena Grand, I couldn't find my parking ticket thing and everyone flipped out. Randall and I were like, jeez. Chill. Out. I MISS ALEX. She was so pretty last summer, does anyone remember how pretty? Also, I don't know who reads this. I've kept it hidden from most all SLC kids. I may delete it? I dunno. Who cares.
Okay, bye.
Many things have been happening lately. Ben had his appendix out. I got a bright blond wig (strictly for rock shows, dance parties and one night stands). Randall came and went. We had a lovely time together. And soon we'll be back together in New York, which I'm starting to believe is where we're supposed to be. Columbus showed us a good time, though. More on that, later. I always hated in lectures in say, science class in high school when he'd (by he I mean any of those crazy old men who taught me science for four years) say, More on that later, it was always like, God DAMMIT, you mean this has to go on until later, and later consists of you talking about THAT? More on that later, what a shitty promise to make me, to make anyone.
Work sucks, by the way. Camp still has its moments, but this job, this other job makes me want to kill things. Also, I've made up my mind, it's settled, I'm to be a dance third this year. First position, second position, and so on and so forth.
Something we were talking about last night is the fact that I am not in any way addicted to cigarettes. Which is good, which is weird. I never intended to be, and so I'm not, but it isn't that simple, I should be, you know. Everyone else is addicted to cigarettes, and I obviously have an addictive personality, but it's always a conscious decision I make, to smoke, out of want, not necessity. Why do I do it at all, you may ask. Because I like to.
I'm trying to collect my poems and make some little book out of them, so I can actually feel like I've done something with myself and my summer and my stupid notebooks, but the whole process is making me quite tired and sad. I mean, I don't get it, is this how we're supposed to feel? Endlessly nostalgic and bittersweet for time passed, when you didn't even realize, despite how terrible, This is Good.
I saw the Descent and it was terrifying, it really was. I hope, I pray that Pulse is, as well. Yesterday one of my neighbor's cats (she has 8 hundred million) was walking in circles and dragging one of its legs. I thought Atticus was going to have to come shoot it out of its crazy misery, but, no. She's at the vet now, they don't know what's wrong, exactly. Excuse me, middle-aged man with braces and polo shirt, the men's room is out of toilet paper, no, it isn't, there is that thin, cylinderish thing by the toilet, filled, filled to the brim with rolls, just reach in, you can solve this problem on your own, you CAN!
Randall, Emma, and I went to the Ted Leo + the Pharmacists concert the other night. It was INCREDIBLE. They weren't kidding about the charisma of a young Elvis Costello, lemme tell you. We were having the best time, drinking too much, it was hot in there, everyone was so sweaty, life-changing life-changing, HIPSTERS ARE TAKING OVER THE WORLD! Anyway, I went to pee, 50 times per night, and I come back and they are taking to this tall man from Wales claiming to be Ben Lee's guitarist. Yeah right, Emma said. The concert continued, he was kinda cool, this flirty man, suddenly we're standing with Ben Lee and the rest of the band. Oh, okay, we thought. They happened to be playing with Dashboard Confessional and Say Anything the next night and had come to see Ted Leo. After the show, the beautiful, beautiful show, the three of us plus BEN LEE went to meet my Alcoholic friends at some shitty bar on campus, we didn't know it was shitty at the time. Hilariously, amusingly shitty. Ben Lee bought us drinks and told us stories and was charming and fun. He also had a big crush on Emma! Randall informed him this wasn't our scene, he loved that, I asked him if he cared for Dashboard, like an asshole. But it was wonderful, great, thrilling. Ben Lee told me to keep dancing.
Well, I'm not sure about this new season of Project Runway. I'm sad about Bradley! His clothes sucked but he was funny. Also, Angela is giving O-H--I-O! a bad name, so fuck her. My money and heart are on Michael. He's smooth.
Northstar and iced tea for lunch/breakfast (dinner?)-yum! Can we talk, for a minute, about the deliciousness of basil? Oh, wow, I heart basil so much. I'm chewing it now, slowly, so good. Noah's band has been playing a bunch lately. After their show the other night (also at Little Brothers), Emma and I ended up drinking Framboise with Perry at the bar next door. THE Perry Smith. It was a dream come true. Speaking of Noah's musical genius, the Birthday Factory is going to play a show in my treehouse next Friday, maybe the Friday after that. We want there to be picnicking of some sort, BYOBlanket.
Last night, I went to this party thrown by Sarah's (from SLC) queer friends. It was celebrating Lance's recent coming-out announcement, the theme was "One Down, Four to Go." God, gays have the best decorations. And wodka. Peals, peals of laughter. I left a lot of stuff at the Eisenman's and I don't even know what Carl and I sat on the floor in the kitchen and talked about, 3 a.m., but it was all very important.
And here, now, is a poem by the darling and the dear Marie Howe, called "Gretel, from a Sudden Clearing." I don't know, I was slower to warm up to The Good Thief, What the Living Do struck me so much more, but I (re)read this the other night and was so startled that I simply must post it on my el-jay, must hug her hard and sincere when we're all together again at Sadie Lou.
Gretel, from a Sudden Clearing
No way back then, you remember, we decided,
but forward, deep into a wood
so darkly green, so deafening with birdsong
I stopped my ears.
And that high chime at night,
was it really the stars, or some music
running inside our heads like a dream?
I think we must have been very tired.
I think it must have been a bad broken off
piece at the start that left us so hungry
we turned back to a path that was gone,
and lost each other, looking.
I called your name over and over again,
and still you did not come.
At night, I was afraid of the black dogs
and often I dreamed you next to me,
but even then, you were always turning
down the thick corridor of trees.
In daylight, every tree became you.
And pretending, I kissed my way through
the forest, until I stopped pretending
and stumbled, finally, here.
Here too, there are step-parents, and bread
rising, and so many other people
you may not find me at first. They speak
your name, when I speak it.
But I remember you before you became
a story. Sometimes, I feel a thorn in my foot
when there is no thorn. They tell me,
not unkindly, that I should imagine nothing here.
But I believe you are still alive.
I want to tell you about the size of the witch
and how beautiful she is. I want to tell you
the kitchen knives only look friendly,
they have a life of their own,
and that you shouldn't be sorry,
not for the bread we ate and thought
we wasted, not for turning back alone,
and that I remember how our shadows walked
always before us, and how that was a clue,
and how there are other clues
that seem like a dream but are not,
and that every day, I am less
and less afraid.
[transition]
C., I've been thinking about you and drafting a fair, but not unhealthy amount of responses. I'm not sure what to say, yet. I'm here, but give me one more minute?
I love that song Fidelity by Regina Spektor. It is so sweet.
I intended to re-black my hair, but Lawrence and Jane have both said no, no Lauren. So, I dunno. The Heartbreak Orchestra is playing at Vic's tonight and I just may have to go. Ben, will you be well enough? Oh, the other night at the Arena Grand, I couldn't find my parking ticket thing and everyone flipped out. Randall and I were like, jeez. Chill. Out. I MISS ALEX. She was so pretty last summer, does anyone remember how pretty? Also, I don't know who reads this. I've kept it hidden from most all SLC kids. I may delete it? I dunno. Who cares.
Okay, bye.