Sunday, April 11, 2004
these little treacherous things
excerpts from bri's paper journal, book 4, c.april, may, june 2003
"...one day i'll feel as adored as the cracker in your mouth.
maybe you'll consent to being my cracker, double frosted.
maybe we'll have animal cracker sex-
the good kind...
this makes me feel like alice in wonderland."
"So please, lets play bad Sinatra at my wedding. People will show up in easy access cocktail dresses and the reddest lipstick. Male attendees will accessorize with cigars. We will drink martinis and tongue the olives. We will talk about nothing in particular. It will feel like America before urban decay. It will feel like we're not in America. It will be a good feeling. We'll get smashed with the best of intentions; no intentions at all... Strangers in the night?"
"...i wanted to start crying and i wanted him to hold me. but he just stands there with his arms around me, looking beautiful. and closed. and dismembered from me. so there i stood staring at the bare wall between all the matted art, and i listened intently and not at all to all of his insightful, mocking comments about symbolism between angel wings and maple leaves and neon rays of fucking sunlight and i felt more alone than i had the rest of the day. in this crowded room. even in my agnosticism, i wondered what god was thinking when he made life so sad..."
"...after prom was none-too-amazing. i witnessed Al and erik smoke a strawberry cigar with ezra and i was fairly disheartened. i don't know, i'm unapologetic about it. where does smoking a cigar with ezra factor into the advance of one's life? it's certainly not saving the whales...
...the guest room is an oddity. it has this wallowing factor. when you're in it, you can feel it ache. you could crowd the walls with 10,000 warm bodies and it would still feel vacant...
...and this reminded me of the word 'dreamy' and the people who say it. and when each name was spoken, when each of our lips had passed the last syllable, it was dreamy in a backwards brady bunch sort of way. maybe i'm the molly ringwold after all..."
"...i guess it's all mechanical when you break it down. the mechanics of breathing and being fake. the mechanics of sex and extreme coupon clipping. and love even. the mechanics of mechanics. everything is so dulled and unsalted because of the first five years of my own existence. expectations placed too high, plummeting to the ground..."
"...i internalize things far too much. in this life, right now, i am okay. i am fairly contented. i am happy a large percentage of the time. but but but. everything about this okay, contented, happy revolving door is mediocre..."
"BROKEN JAW;BROKEN HEART. there, i wrote it. maybe i'll sleep better. sometimes all i want is to feel even more hollow, your fucking cadaver. oh won't you explore the textures and triumphs of my heart and cerebellum with a grapfruit spoon. 3:13PM smack in the face. June 2."
"...memorializing all of you. the friends, the lovers, the loss of these things. that fake plastic food i used to play with as a kid. i remembered it only from my inner five year olds perception until 10th grade health class when some greasy looking grad student used it to demonstrate portion sizes, with plastictastic fries and donuts. the once glorified memory of my frugal gourmet is now tainted forever. this experience can be equated to my growing up in general..."
"...i'm not playing the victim. i'm just trying to deal with the inevitable in advance."
Apr 10. 2004
don't worry, i'll catch you
don't worry, i'll catch you
don't ever worry.
[i could say this to the whole world daily. but when i do i mean it. my lungs hurt.
the last time we meet, the last time i'll feel you breathe? well, it would make sense.
you'll never feel like home again.]
"...one day i'll feel as adored as the cracker in your mouth.
maybe you'll consent to being my cracker, double frosted.
maybe we'll have animal cracker sex-
the good kind...
this makes me feel like alice in wonderland."
"So please, lets play bad Sinatra at my wedding. People will show up in easy access cocktail dresses and the reddest lipstick. Male attendees will accessorize with cigars. We will drink martinis and tongue the olives. We will talk about nothing in particular. It will feel like America before urban decay. It will feel like we're not in America. It will be a good feeling. We'll get smashed with the best of intentions; no intentions at all... Strangers in the night?"
"...i wanted to start crying and i wanted him to hold me. but he just stands there with his arms around me, looking beautiful. and closed. and dismembered from me. so there i stood staring at the bare wall between all the matted art, and i listened intently and not at all to all of his insightful, mocking comments about symbolism between angel wings and maple leaves and neon rays of fucking sunlight and i felt more alone than i had the rest of the day. in this crowded room. even in my agnosticism, i wondered what god was thinking when he made life so sad..."
"...after prom was none-too-amazing. i witnessed Al and erik smoke a strawberry cigar with ezra and i was fairly disheartened. i don't know, i'm unapologetic about it. where does smoking a cigar with ezra factor into the advance of one's life? it's certainly not saving the whales...
...the guest room is an oddity. it has this wallowing factor. when you're in it, you can feel it ache. you could crowd the walls with 10,000 warm bodies and it would still feel vacant...
...and this reminded me of the word 'dreamy' and the people who say it. and when each name was spoken, when each of our lips had passed the last syllable, it was dreamy in a backwards brady bunch sort of way. maybe i'm the molly ringwold after all..."
"...i guess it's all mechanical when you break it down. the mechanics of breathing and being fake. the mechanics of sex and extreme coupon clipping. and love even. the mechanics of mechanics. everything is so dulled and unsalted because of the first five years of my own existence. expectations placed too high, plummeting to the ground..."
"...i internalize things far too much. in this life, right now, i am okay. i am fairly contented. i am happy a large percentage of the time. but but but. everything about this okay, contented, happy revolving door is mediocre..."
"BROKEN JAW;BROKEN HEART. there, i wrote it. maybe i'll sleep better. sometimes all i want is to feel even more hollow, your fucking cadaver. oh won't you explore the textures and triumphs of my heart and cerebellum with a grapfruit spoon. 3:13PM smack in the face. June 2."
"...memorializing all of you. the friends, the lovers, the loss of these things. that fake plastic food i used to play with as a kid. i remembered it only from my inner five year olds perception until 10th grade health class when some greasy looking grad student used it to demonstrate portion sizes, with plastictastic fries and donuts. the once glorified memory of my frugal gourmet is now tainted forever. this experience can be equated to my growing up in general..."
"...i'm not playing the victim. i'm just trying to deal with the inevitable in advance."
Apr 10. 2004
don't worry, i'll catch you
don't worry, i'll catch you
don't ever worry.
[i could say this to the whole world daily. but when i do i mean it. my lungs hurt.
the last time we meet, the last time i'll feel you breathe? well, it would make sense.
you'll never feel like home again.]
