drunkenly she tells me its a shiny hiny

the shiny back means it has a refridgeration unit on the front.. they’re loud…..

are you listening ?

I’m telling you so you never forget .

May 26, 2009

Today, I see one on the road I’ve forgotten its name already

I ask her to repeat it

i realize that this will end in this moment as I stare at a sign that reads Peach Grove Rd

intensely and without reason, focus, malice

I need it to get better…. i dont know if it will.

When I was about 8 or 9, I would play make believe/dress up all the time in my frog( finished room over the garage)

I had no friends to speak of really, so dress up took up most of my time

I would play for hours and hours, not coming out until I was called for dinner

There was one reoccurring character that I would act out often, she was  a real estate agent with two children whose husband was never around.

Her name was Elizabeth Tears.. but she went by Liz for short

and her two childrens’ names were Amy and Elizabeth again.. the youngest daughter was  Elizabeth

the oldest was Amy.

My face hurts

my savings is dwindling,

so is my time

We had been preparing for this moment

in our dreams

alohg the street with

the bright ly colored houses,

watching it from afar 

in the flower coated park

its just you and me and the gravity

I’ve never met anyone with eyes like hers

they talk to mine like they have known each other for years

like old friends in the park

smoking long cigarettes

in the sunshine.

I’m sorry, the ledge was so high.

During the last week, I lost two things that were important to me

my understanding of realtionships and my best friend.

or maybe a better way to describe it is that these two things have been redirected forever

sometimes the love is so deep that you dont even know where it starts or where it began

and the lines become blurred between what is normal and what is abnormal

and how do you define love when its so intense and so different?

you crave it and at the same time you hate it

you want it out of your life and you want it in every second of every day

you want the feeling of knowing, of trust, of ultimate sacrifice for another human being

sides, wars, alliances, battles, and death

what is the price of love when you love so deeply?

is it better to be alone, to not need

there is always so much more to be said that can not be said or just isn’t

your’e the only one, and will probably be the last

“I wouldnt think you were drunk dialing me unless you were.”

 today I walked all over key west.

I went to hemingway's house among many other things. There
were cats everywhere: it was amazing.I took a polaroid of
where Hemingway wrote many of his works. I'll show you.
 
The lady at the lot where i park my car everday let me park for
free, "saying everyone needs a day,"so i decided to walk
everywhere
and I am now sunburnt. It hurts when I crinkle my nose.  

Oddly enough, many random people on the street complimented me on my
boots, and one man told me that I was fab.
We then had witty banter about
fashion as an art. Well, mainly I talked and he nodded his head.
He was my father's age and dressed like him as well.
 
The homeless man who told dirty jokes for a $1, beer in hand,
 exclaimed, "love your boots!"

I went into a gallery where the man who ran it was
singin beatles
songs at the top of his
lungs and we had at least a 10 min conversation about his
wife's art on the walls, which I liked.

I then went to the southernmost house in america which
is now a hotel.
A picture of it has hung in my house since I was child. I took
a picture of it by request of my mother.  My parents went
there when my mom was pregnant with my sister.

A random guy tried to give me a high five on the street
, I declined.

 I went to the small indie theater and saw a movie with Helen
Hunt(also directed by her): I cried at least three times.
I was by myself.
I also took my shoes off because my broken toe was hurting
and spread out among three seats.

The movie was not that good, I was tired,
and the sun had gone down.

If we all must.

I have often begin to write in my sleep or dreams rather , but then I can never remember them when I wake up. They are always well crafted and the words are able to express every emotion I am feeling to a T.  Which never actually happens in real life of course. Maybe these are just dreams or maybe this is what makes them dreams, of which, I am not sure. I have had, however,  at least two moment of intense deja vu in the last week. Anna Sartin has said before that deja vu means “you, your being” is on the right track or path, something like that. 

All of this scares me.

“Emil und die Detektive”

I walk down the street thinking how I don’t actually need you or care what you are doing.  Or how I don’t really want to call you back or invite you to come with me. And as soon as i have this realization I see you with Sophie which makes me laugh and I think even from the back you look beautiful and then I think maybe I should say hi, but then I realize that I ignored your call two times last night, so I don’t.

“Shem went to the store”

The other day, someone stole my cookies.  It pissed me off.

They say hard times are supposed to make a person more creative, more unique. It toughens them and gives them a different vantage point with which to view life. I am not really sure if my life falls under that catergory and I not asuming that it is, but for the first time in my life I realized what “having it not so good”actually means.  I grew up in an environment that I always assumed was just comfortable. I never needed anything for the most part and if I needed clothing or medical attention, it was never a question of how. Maybe this was because my parents hid it from me or maybe we really were well-off, but I always described myself as normal. A normal American family in a nice  house with a two car garage, a dog and good schools. However, over time I have realized that I was obviously horribly disllusioned towards most of the world’s workings.

 I think the realization came after my third double in a row, in between shifts, I stopped, looking down at my coffee burned hand and the brown smudge of god knows what still on my hand and realized that I was thinking of what things I needed to spot clean before I could do laundry again because I couldn’t afford it any time soon.

And in saying all this, I am exactly what Karina talks about and she would of course chatize me for my middle class plight. (She grew up in the projects next to a stripper with whom she used to pick shrooms with in their backyard).

I mean yes, I don’t have it that bad. I dont have children, I am not married nor am I seeing anyone seriously for that matter.

But I  have begun to recycle everything, including, tanktops for as long as I can til they smell and even then I try to stretch it. And I sometimes do wonder if people notice.

I have recently tried to get in touch with those who are important to me. My sister who lives in England is one of them. When I was on the phone with her last she ranted about her job and said the people in England smell because they wear the same clothes every day.

Needless to say, I dont like when I spend money on cookies and people steal them.