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weds, march 8th, 2000
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lamenting is all a girl can do. blues tend to wash away the pastels of morning into dreary
nites... a blinding inferno of nothingness. lines can't gel in my mind. don't even care
about forming jessica's character. it's this huge effort to actually try.
boys break backs. their shoulders are too strong for the cleanliness that makes up my
waist; they fall in love too much w/ eyes. fear still collects in the dark corridors of my
stomach, its walls touching hands w/ his. and phone calls are non-obligatory, loosely
hanging kite strings that fly about in tails...detached.
"let's go for a ride."
fear has dark eye-shadow and lurches behind the leaves- greened. full of pine
needles. i worry that sickness will steal her palms. cause her to grow weak. dissipate.
what would i have w/out her? a life? happy smiling teeth? brambles can't just stop
drawing blood when her edges are still sharp.
metal scours the earth: pointed tin lids, fake flowers, notes in middle C. wilting
petals are the only remainders of the day- the sun- when the sky decides to drop her skirt.
hey, if sadness didn't ensue, how could the whores keep fucking? fucking beetles.
mountains. the ass of a rock. does this mean i'm not literature? words are so voluptuous,
wearing architecture that i can't fully duplicate or render services to. they are fickle.
when i close my eyes i see Andrew: mirrors projecting silver into metaphors that
mean nothing.
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