(no subject)
transcribed from a scribbled panic attack earlier this evening:
dear world,
i am obsessed with honesty lately.
i am writing this on one of the few remaining pages of a journal who's first dated entry is from 3-1-02.3-1-02's entry also announces my aceptance to mica and cooper union. it also indicates -- at a remarkable level-- that i had a girl-crush. and my obsessive nature:
"i want to see her at home. i want to either immediately know why she hates it or suprised by a healthy enviornment. she's so soft and kind of a mystery to me."
(yet on 5-15-02 i say " he writes me poetry and he's 20. when it rains it pours.")
on my second night of art school (8-30-02) i wrote only this thought:
"i can only worship this moment blindly -- aware of the lie but still infatuated with every slight shift of breeze on my cheek and every city faucet singing."
9-2-02:
"i'm worried i don't love art as much as everyone here."
and
"you drag heavy black pants up and over groggy knees."
much later, an undated entry reads:
" i am going home for christmas one week early to get medication and therapy. things would be much better if my grandmother died. i like santa!!"
and now i will write:
i am suprised that it makes me feel nice to be able to buy a friend a $5.65 sandwich and not need them to pay me back.
dear world,
i am obsessed with honesty lately.
i am writing this on one of the few remaining pages of a journal who's first dated entry is from 3-1-02.3-1-02's entry also announces my aceptance to mica and cooper union. it also indicates -- at a remarkable level-- that i had a girl-crush. and my obsessive nature:
"i want to see her at home. i want to either immediately know why she hates it or suprised by a healthy enviornment. she's so soft and kind of a mystery to me."
(yet on 5-15-02 i say " he writes me poetry and he's 20. when it rains it pours.")
on my second night of art school (8-30-02) i wrote only this thought:
"i can only worship this moment blindly -- aware of the lie but still infatuated with every slight shift of breeze on my cheek and every city faucet singing."
9-2-02:
"i'm worried i don't love art as much as everyone here."
and
"you drag heavy black pants up and over groggy knees."
much later, an undated entry reads:
" i am going home for christmas one week early to get medication and therapy. things would be much better if my grandmother died. i like santa!!"
and now i will write:
i am suprised that it makes me feel nice to be able to buy a friend a $5.65 sandwich and not need them to pay me back.