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[05 May 2009|08:25pm] |
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after, and a amid hundreds of papers of critics studies about spanish medieval literature and a bottle of wine and the mohawk lodge singing sweet sad tunes, i am wearing cutoff shorts and my hair is soft and ugh why wont he kiss me.
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[02 Dec 2008|06:52pm] |
i miss the rain most of all. i miss the rain and dc and i miss driveways and even fences, even white picket fences, i miss that. it is so very strange how things unravel, it is strange the things i miss like the fact that there were no sidewalks but front porches, i miss that and i miss all the cars parked outside the houses instead of underground garages and i really, really, really do miss rain most of all. i miss fast postal service and i miss the metro, and the impossibly long long, epic huge stairs in stations like dupont circle and i really miss tightly packed concerts and i miss my little sister and here crazy wonderful stories and watching fresh prince of bel-air.
i dont know. my head is swimming. i miss the moment before opening a door of a house, little, precise moments like that. i miss being relevant. i miss, i dont know. i cant go through it all. i have finals, i should keep this locked for a long time.
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[20 Oct 2008|05:03pm] |
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i have the ending of my story, now i need to work on the middle. fuck the middle.
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[31 Jul 2008|11:53pm] |
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sigh a sigh of relieve, this is over
and you are finally okay.
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[15 Jul 2008|05:02pm] |
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i am in dc. it is summer but god how sad i feel.
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| my kind is your kind. |
[31 May 2008|09:05pm] |
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music |
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the yeah yeah yeah's |
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this apartment is way too big and i am way too restless half of the time or most of the time and my hands never know what to do, if i should write or pass pages off the books i should read for the classes i should go to but some mornings i cant wake up because i remember photographs of you and i dont even know you now and we dont even awknowledge each others birthdays but once a long time ago we shared a bed, a bed, and i held your face in my palms and said no one would love you like i love you like that song and it breaks my heart now, to be strangers, to be only that and to know that everyone has to peel people away from their arms and legs and lips and minds and minds and sometimes i think i missed the moving on train, i should be far already, i mean come on its been almost two years, fuck two years since you said you didnt love me anymore and what am i doing still and thinking of pictures of you, what the hell am i doing and why cant i wake up some mornings and put on my shoes like everyone else does.
kramer, my ferret, is sick. he used to be so vivacious and bounced around from room to room hiding pencils under beds and scattering the forgotten cigarrette ashes on the floor and now he lays inside his bed (a blue winter hat) and looks out at nothing and his eyes are so sad and his eyes are the saddest eyes in the world and i dont know what to do, i went to the doctor and held his tiny body as they flashed the x-rays on the screen and i could see a shiny spot where his heart beats but nothing else, no indications or hints for his maladies, i lay in bed with him and think maybe we are one in the same, all heart and nothing else, all heart and that's it.
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[05 May 2008|01:20pm] |
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This is the story of the boys who loved you
Who love you now and loved you then
And some were sweet and some were cold and snuffed you
And some just layed around in bed
And some, they crumbled you straight to your knees
Did it cruel, did it tenderly
Some, they crawled their way into your heart
To rend your ventricles apart
This is the story of the boys who loved you
you said you liked this part the best. i realize now that they are all just one person, that they were all you.
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| i have touched you all the way to untouchability. |
[09 Apr 2008|10:42pm] |
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mood |
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no more drugs . |
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music |
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skinny love, bon iver. |
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in between and amist fucking moments of paralyzing cyclones of depression (i think) i am slowly writing a short story slow slowly and i like the way things looks typed and the faint smell of ink and to imagine arms and legs and limbs i have control over. like cleaning the past like re writing history like erasing mistakes and all of the things&words not said and having acted so foolishly. i keep replaying images and shared beds and god, how did i lack so much elocuence, how did i de-evolve into a helpless little girl with her arms up in the air wanting not to drown. i shake my head now when i write and i think too much and i have a slight idea of where this is going but it is taking me so long and too many cigarettes and strange bouts of sadness.
my type writer is smooth&soft and so fucking beautiful, too much maybe, maybe too much for everything else.
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[02 Mar 2008|06:10pm] |
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my dad got me the most beautiful typewriter ever it is so soft and unforgiving and can write in red as well. it is the most precious gift and it sucks to be so drained out of everything that i cant bring myself to write anything relevant or even remotely beautiful. i have lost it, i think. i am tired and drained and angry and dont want to think or write anything of what happened three weeks ago, i open and close my diary like a bird, i pace around my apartment, there is a corner we still need to paint. i have filled my room with polaroids, sticking tape to the back of them, not thinking, everything to try to keep me from dying. i know how i sound, how whiny, how idiotic, how fucking adolescent of me. i watch ballet specials on the television and drown in the heat of this summer. i am starving myself, censuring thoughts and isolating from people that care about me and love me unconditionally because of the cancer of not letting go of the one person that doesnt. 2007 came and went and i survived, 2008, i am not so sure. something has got to give.
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[25 Jan 2008|06:31pm] |
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what am i doing what am i doing. i dont know what the fuck i am doing.
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[19 Jan 2008|02:42pm] |
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music |
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the microphones |
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it was snowing and i was wearing heals and the silvery dream of a dress and we ate korean food korean food with lots of vegetables and side dishes and drank an entire bottle of wine which made my body warmer and in the jacket of my pocket i had a paper where i wrote what i wanted to say but i held it tight and didnt take it out and then we walked up and down 18th street to a bar with upholstered couches and high cealings and cheap drinks and halls and people dancing in rooms and making out and dim lighting and click click flashes. my coat was stolen, with the paper where i wrote what i wanted to say, and we went grocery shopping at three in the morning for frozen pizza and glazed donuts and i realized maybe it didnt matter yet maybe talking is overrated maybe this is all that is needed, the sitting at the edge of the bed, the making love between ruffles of silver fabric and watching taxi cabs confessions and going to bed like it was a day ago, a week ago, a year ago, like nothing has changed. the lines of comfort and intimacy are blurred more everyday but its all very fragile like it might break at any second like it might dessintigrate to pieces, like everything might change or worse go back to normal. i dont know what this is but last night was a good night. even if lost my coat with all those words, even still.
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[17 Jan 2008|06:34pm] |
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we are going out to dinner tomorrow. i am wearing a silver dress and cant prepare or think of what to say, i hope it doesnt snow, i hope i dont fall even deeper.
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[01 Jan 2008|03:10pm] |
sitting on top of the car and it is cold and you whisper that we are going to make a mistake and none of us care but after a year and a half we kiss on top of your kitchen counters and spill the champagne on the floor and fall asleep on the same sheets of a room that has nothing hung yet, that is still new.
2008 starts and i know now that i have lost you, even if i had you, just for a little while, just for a night.
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[11 Dec 2007|09:59pm] |
 
the upside of heartbreak, weightloss. i dont know, i dont even know if i would call it that except that it happens and now, a week before i go to DC again i have a knot in the pit of my stomach of nervousness and changes and not knowing how to act.
also, where the hell did my boobs go.
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[05 Dec 2007|11:16am] |
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mood |
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 touched |
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music |
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pixies |
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my friend ursula made a sort of goodbye video of this past year. it is so sweet and now she is leaving to argentina and i am not quite sure how to deal with that. we traveled to the north and back by bus and spent entire afternoons together during the summer looking out my window or during the winter eating ramens soup and dancing at sargent pepper lonely hearts club. that saved me a bit, or at least made it easier. words cannot describe how much i will miss her. she, we, were the greatest.
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[13 Nov 2007|10:59pm] |
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it has been a year, how long does this go on?
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[12 Nov 2007|10:48am] |
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i remember good things, only good things. i remember cardboard boxes and red paint when assembling your tetris outfit, i remember making out in the storage room of the ice cream place where we put all the sprinkles.
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| dancing |
[04 Nov 2007|01:15pm] |
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music |
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belle & sebastian. |
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it could have been a brilliant career.
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[27 Sep 2007|08:28pm] |
my apartment is cold even though i bought new pillows and sheets all in green and turquoise and fake orange flowers for the living room. i take showers in the afternoon during the week because i can escape from the cold that way but the water becomes lukewarm after a while and lukewarm doesnt cut it anymore. i turn off lights whenever they are not used and go grocery shopping every sunday for the upcoming week. i buy fruit and cereal and fish and chicken and sometimes go restless when it is too silent and the awareness of living on my own hits me again and i look at my wall and its polaroids and watercolors and a black and white picture of my father, sitting at a cafe in buenos aires, wearing a scarf and reading a book. he looks handsome like a parisian writer. not too far from that picture there is one of my mother wearing a red bandana across her forehead and surrounded by green leaves and looking like a beautiful sad warrior with her black rayban sunglasses hanging from her tshirt and the strap of her camera clinging to her shoulder. they are scotchtaped to the wall and silent and distant because i wont see them for a while and how the spaces between these cold hands and them seems to enlarge by the minute. i can still see them so clearly in their youth, i like to seem them in their youth, i like to rewind time and i dont think i even have to close my eyes to see my mom whispering "hold still" to my dad on winter days so that she can click her camera and retain that instant for a second. i can see now, i can see now so clearly how alike we are in that sense, in that burning desire to hold time still between our fingers, how she carried her heavy camara everywhere the way i hold the journal that my father gave me that holds within it every intimate moment i found too brilliant to lose to the past, to forgetfullness, to life, really.
i find wooden boxes upon wooden boxes of photographs in envelopes i bet she hasnt had the strenght to see in so long because i imagine it hurts to see the arms of this man who was her world wrapped around her in another time, a decade ago in another country, in millions of countries where she followed him with 7 suitcases around the world. i imagine the way her heart shrinks like my heart shrinks every time i stumble upon words i wrote about my past and the love that i held on a pedestal like when i scribbled this after he came to visit me to Peru.
"people ask me sometimes if i am still in love. i always know the answer is in my head before i utter a word being in love is engrained in me. I have adjusted the beating of my heart. I say yes and hope you feel the same way. i get scared of distance and i get scared of silence and i get scared of one day waking up and finding out you will break my heart. i have already seen your face not trying to hurt me and it still haunts me. I see other loves and i see broken hearts and i can understand humanity and our mistakes and imperfections. We spent all those entire ten days together under wooden roofs in hotel bedrooms which were cold with altitude and on an eighteen hour bus ride to the beach and making love during the day where the day never really ended. i kissed the entire arc of your neck and played sudoku puzzles on your back and i thought, we, humanity, we are not perfect. but this, this feeling, this is as close as it gets"
my heart shrinks at the untainted honest truth every word held at that moment i wrote it only propelled by this curse, this cancer, this which was utopic and made the pen not stumble on the page and made the page soft and welcoming, as if it knew, in one way or the other that it was destined since the beginning of time to hold a love like that. (or the memory of a love like that)
i keep the journal closed and try not to run my fingers through past pages, and details like perfect lighting and clean laundry. i try to think about what else i need to do to this apartment to make it my own, i call the old carpenter with tired eyes to install wooden bookshelfs incorporated into the walls because i cannot betray the dream i had to buy wooden bookshelfs with you, because just picturing that piece of furniture breaks my heart even more, still, and again because there is no greater ache than the ache of the things we didnt do.
the wooden floors of the apartment hold a silence that despite giving me moments of clarity, mostly just resound the solitude that i felt, and that my mother felt, and that my dad probably feels in the thick bolivia air, all of us oblivious that we are linked to the never ending cycle that are these feelings of sadness and unrequited love that has probably been there since the begging of time.
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