(no subject)
it only occured to me now to use this.
its romantic i suppose. the one great hatred of my life being able to read it. only him. and he never will. maybe it will blindside him one random afternoon, the appearance of new text. so here, i have seized this journal. it is mine. i will use it now. dave can comb i_make_my_own every day for new updates. they won't be there. they'll be here.
show was last night. show show show show show. words. ugh. repeat. words. keep trying.
the show was last night. do i go to shows? good god. small venue, old church/preschool in levittown bristol. i'll give you a hint, all preschools smell the same. there was the lambchops puppet. there were the desks organized with nametags adorned with apples and caterpillars and dinosaurs. maybe flowers if you were a girl. blue plastic chairs. the bands were downstairs in the church basement, and it was so loud. too loud down there. saw too many people i have recognized. thought i recognized. the word myspace is said one too many times. people are taking photos of the crowd with digital cameras so i'll show up on a fucking website later today or tomorrow. the whole night could've been bobbing and weaving through haircuts if it wasn't for that room. witnessing that kind of forced individualism that comes out of necessity for ugly people. hang around ugly people enough and you eventually hate them. the only honor left for them is challenging the status quo. they create their own hierarchies; their own standards; their own rules. what we hated was rules. what we hated was codes. hanging out in that setting reminded me of all i was supposed to inherit. by blood, i am the queen of underground bands. days away same label as panic! at the disco. oh boy. did they stay at your house once? yes. yes yes yes. are they as untalented and shitty and banal in person as they are on tv? that's what they really should ask. bobbing and weaving right into my brother's indie-rock coalition. could i imagine being on the bottom of these people? trey catches my eye. so does mike. i'm nudged foward because i convinced SOMEBODY that once a summer ago i had a fling with one of THESE guys. good luck, like lions. matt robnett hasn't even seen you perform.
they were half good, if you were wondering. i danced. i ran into marcy fucking stockunas. hahahahah. melissa was handing out flyers and hunter and 11th grade girls screamed ROBNETT!!!!
we made our way to the back--upstairs, round a corner down a hall past two doors marked with blue for boys and pink for girls. opened a door and climbed over chairs into this small room. turned on a dim light. so there were the desks. the labels on everything. an orange sticker on a door called "closet" in that safe, completely straight black writing. devoid of character; a default hand. bottles full of colored water. a dollhouse. art smocks hung neatly in a clear plastic caddy. we didn't speak as we wrote things on the back of all the nametags. it started out like maybe, "you'll grow up to be a winner!!", or, "don't trust asian people" to something different. "never listen to axioms." "you'll miss the smell of this place when you get older." "love and hate as much as you can. resist the temptation to work the networks of give and take." "a human being is beautiful. a group of them is disgusting." "never capitalize god." "school is useless. learn an instrument." "remember everything. miss nothing." "nothing lasts forever."to max-"your name is simple, but you aren't." to maggie-"i'm sorry to say, but magic will happen." they'll never be able to read them, but
i still have my nametag from preschool. whos to say that one of them won't keep it also?
"do you find me silly? sentimental?"
i discovered that night that my feet are flat and i can't stand long.
passing myself in the hallway today--an onion blossom on my head; turnip, perhaps; teetering back and forth. whimsical hair. eyes growing wider, strangely enough.
its romantic i suppose. the one great hatred of my life being able to read it. only him. and he never will. maybe it will blindside him one random afternoon, the appearance of new text. so here, i have seized this journal. it is mine. i will use it now. dave can comb i_make_my_own every day for new updates. they won't be there. they'll be here.
show was last night. show show show show show. words. ugh. repeat. words. keep trying.
the show was last night. do i go to shows? good god. small venue, old church/preschool in levittown bristol. i'll give you a hint, all preschools smell the same. there was the lambchops puppet. there were the desks organized with nametags adorned with apples and caterpillars and dinosaurs. maybe flowers if you were a girl. blue plastic chairs. the bands were downstairs in the church basement, and it was so loud. too loud down there. saw too many people i have recognized. thought i recognized. the word myspace is said one too many times. people are taking photos of the crowd with digital cameras so i'll show up on a fucking website later today or tomorrow. the whole night could've been bobbing and weaving through haircuts if it wasn't for that room. witnessing that kind of forced individualism that comes out of necessity for ugly people. hang around ugly people enough and you eventually hate them. the only honor left for them is challenging the status quo. they create their own hierarchies; their own standards; their own rules. what we hated was rules. what we hated was codes. hanging out in that setting reminded me of all i was supposed to inherit. by blood, i am the queen of underground bands. days away same label as panic! at the disco. oh boy. did they stay at your house once? yes. yes yes yes. are they as untalented and shitty and banal in person as they are on tv? that's what they really should ask. bobbing and weaving right into my brother's indie-rock coalition. could i imagine being on the bottom of these people? trey catches my eye. so does mike. i'm nudged foward because i convinced SOMEBODY that once a summer ago i had a fling with one of THESE guys. good luck, like lions. matt robnett hasn't even seen you perform.
they were half good, if you were wondering. i danced. i ran into marcy fucking stockunas. hahahahah. melissa was handing out flyers and hunter and 11th grade girls screamed ROBNETT!!!!
we made our way to the back--upstairs, round a corner down a hall past two doors marked with blue for boys and pink for girls. opened a door and climbed over chairs into this small room. turned on a dim light. so there were the desks. the labels on everything. an orange sticker on a door called "closet" in that safe, completely straight black writing. devoid of character; a default hand. bottles full of colored water. a dollhouse. art smocks hung neatly in a clear plastic caddy. we didn't speak as we wrote things on the back of all the nametags. it started out like maybe, "you'll grow up to be a winner!!", or, "don't trust asian people" to something different. "never listen to axioms." "you'll miss the smell of this place when you get older." "love and hate as much as you can. resist the temptation to work the networks of give and take." "a human being is beautiful. a group of them is disgusting." "never capitalize god." "school is useless. learn an instrument." "remember everything. miss nothing." "nothing lasts forever."to max-"your name is simple, but you aren't." to maggie-"i'm sorry to say, but magic will happen." they'll never be able to read them, but
i still have my nametag from preschool. whos to say that one of them won't keep it also?
"do you find me silly? sentimental?"
i discovered that night that my feet are flat and i can't stand long.
passing myself in the hallway today--an onion blossom on my head; turnip, perhaps; teetering back and forth. whimsical hair. eyes growing wider, strangely enough.