http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:sconosciutonoto&section=today deviantART RSS for by:sconosciutonoto en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Sun, 22 Nov 2009 12:54:33 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/22639369/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/22639369/ Sat, 17 Jan 2009 18:38:02 PST
With this aspect of my life, I'm pleased.

An update:

I still work a management position at a crappy retail fabric store for crappy pay. I still don't have life figured out, but here's where I stand: I'm pregnant--which is totally putting a damper on my alcoholism. The baby's father is a total jerk-off. I have a great boyfriend who is standing up and taking the role of "dad." For this I am thankful. That said, this is the lonliest place I've ever been.

I move a bit down the road (and then some) to an apartment that has income restrictions. At twenty-three I never anticipated that this was where I'd be in life. It's a constant fight to exist happily (at the risk of sounding melodramatic). I just never thought I'd be here.

I guess I really don't have it together, or at least not as much as I thought I did.

The hope of the situation is that I will make it and hopefully be a stronger person because of this. I'm embracing the motherhood bit. I'm embracing the deliciousness of peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches.

I haven't written in months, and it's not likely to change soon. This doesn't upset me as much as I assume it should.

I'm cutting this short as melodrama is sure to ensue. I hope all are doing well in mind, body, and writer's spirit.

Somebody, drink a fuckin single malt scotch in my name.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/19985224/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/19985224/ Sat, 16 Aug 2008 10:05:21 PDT
here's why:

[link]

this little boy, zakary, is a friend of mine's son. last week he was hit and killed by a car (the driver was a friend of the mother's as well). thursday morning kimber and i drove to new castle, pennsylvania for the funeral. so much sorrow surrounds children's deaths. people told stories...little anecdotes, but all i could think about was what zakary was supposed to grow up to be. we'd never know if he was going to write a best-selling self-help book or if he would find a cure for AIDS. maybe he was going to be an alcoholic; we'll never know.

life has sucked this past week. a now ex-boyfriend was not good to me on monday latelate. hooray for emergency rooms and gentle doctors' hands. david g. drove down to mary immaculate with me, and stevo met us down there. i think i've made out okay--a little bit of a black eye and a few stitches.

at this point i'm trying in earnest not to be a broken girl. so much is going wrong, and i'm fighting to keep from being swept away with the current.

work is unceasingly stressful. the company advertises competitive wages but doesn't authorize us to hire at anything higher than minimum wage. therefore, i can't keep good employees or get rid of bad ones. there's no one else to work their shifts. there is always something to do and very little time to get it done.

school starts soon. it will be a welcome reprieve.

neil--Castaways and Cutouts. i did not forget.

good health to all.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/18189136/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/18189136/ Mon, 05 May 2008 22:19:00 PDT
(two points if you know what that is from)

I have not fallen off the face of the earth, readers. As many of you know, I had a pretty serious relationship end mid-February, and since I've not been around much. As always, I still lurk, and all of your new works/ journals are sitting in my inbox waiting to be read/ commented (on...pardon the grammar).

I thought the relationship's end would be my end for a while. I thought my life revolved around it. Maybe it did for a while, but that's not healthy, and I'm on the road to being 100% better. I feel much better now, realizing that the whole thing was bogus. Lies continue to be told. Half-truths. Mis-communications and the like. On his part, not mine. To make a long story short, he's moved to the other end of the state, still says he wants to be friends, but doesn't have the decency to be honest about why he can't even return phone calls. Truth be told I don't think I ever loved him though I convinced myself that I did. The pain I felt has been replaced by repulsion. I so want to tell him this, but we aren't talking. I'm pretty convinced that he's not a good person, but I still want him to say all the things he's not saying.

For the last three weeks, I've been seeing someone new. A sniper none-the-less. There's something alluring about Army men. Things are going well. My circle of friends has grown into a normal group that has zero conflict or drama, and everyone involved isn't interested in screwing everyone else over. Plus we race high-performance American muscle cars.

On the note of cars, I have a new one...my dream of an 04 Mustang GT. I'm crazy excited, but I'm keeping my other Mustang as the daily driver.

Also, I move to Farmville in five days. School went well this semester, and I've bulked my GPA up big time. Life is good on this side of the fence; it's a shame I didn't notice it before.

Writing-wise: I've written something else that I think will knock everyone's socks off--though I noticed a lack of comment-whoring on my last two pieces. This should be fixed.

Out of curiosity, what are your current top 5 albums?
Mine are (in no particular order):

Illinoise
Era Vulgaris
In Bocca al Lupo
A Sun Came
By the Way

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/17871925/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/17871925/ Tue, 15 Apr 2008 20:42:23 PDT Cows in Art Class

good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn't always happen
and when it does
it doesn't
always last.


man is
more stable:
if he's bad
there's more chance
he'll stay that way,
or if he's good
he might hang
on,
but a woman
is changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
sex
the moon
the absence or
presence of sun
or good times.


a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.



I am drinking tonight in Spangler's Bar
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here.

I am drinking in Spangler's Bar
wondering which to love and which
to hate, but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it's what I've got to
decide:

kill myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where's the information
coming from?

books...like broken glass:
I wouldn't wipe my ass with 'em
yet, it's getting
darker, see?

(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.

)

buy the cow with the biggest
tits
buy the cow with the biggest
rump.



present arms.



the bartender slides me a beer
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden piss of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order a shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.



from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966--Charles Bukowski


Optimistic today. Went out for tea with someone new. Life will go on; I'm making sure. Send hope my way.

Love to all.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/16954238/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/16954238/ Mon, 18 Feb 2008 22:28:30 PST
There is still love in my heart that won't die. To let go is my greatest gift.

All my love,

K.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/15854421/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/15854421/ Sat, 08 Dec 2007 21:06:48 PST
For you I have no box; for the others, their boxes have been destroyed. While I remember everything you've ever given me, it seems wrong to just shelve you away out of sight/ out of mind. There is the wrapper to a chocolate bar you gave me back in the summer months. It had freeze-dried raspberries in it and was wrapped in a love poem. This was the first of your many wonderful gifts. The most powerful things you gave me weren't things at all. They were poems dripping from your lips smoothing over every rough aspect of my body. Some were books from childhood given just because. Some were lunches and dinners and movie tickets and fondue. Some were hugs, or private trips leading to black and pink bags, or maybe even yourself. Love cannot be boxed away and shipped Fed-Ex to its recipient, but I've tried. Oh, I've tried, and it all just slipped away.

There is no bitterness left in me. No contempt or malice or ill-will. I understand my part in all of this and think I will be all the better from my mistakes.

So, I tip my glass to you and wish you all the health in the world. When life gives you more Pros than Cons, we can be salvaged. Until then, you got a friend in me.

This is best.

~Little Spoon.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/13093494/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/13093494/ Fri, 25 May 2007 20:32:31 PDT
We sat on the picnic tables after class and confessed how crazy we are?
We sat on the hoods of our cars at S'leven and read our sappy poetry to each other?
We would walk in Colonial Williamsburg in the wee hours of morning, and you held me captive with your pretty thoughts?
You told me what limerance was and then cheesily pointed out constellations to me?
I kissed you for the first time and then ran inside because I was afraid of what it meant?
When I was your puzzle piece?
We watched Merlin downstairs and had secrets on the couch?
When I brought Matilda Mouse home because they were going to feed her to a snake?
We would just drive and drive all night just to go somewhere--anywhere with each other?
You called me Kitten?
We went to Virginia Beach with your family, and when you were playing frisbee with your brother, God started crying because you were so bad?
We told secrets in the woods in your neighbourhood?
We would go to IHOP just to see Adreias and Paigan?
We went to Cracker Barrel for that crazy Teresa-lady?
I would cook Pho-Thai for you?
We had love-child fish, and mice, and rats?
We pumpkin-carved with your family?
We had Thanksgiving with your family?
We made a Snoopy Gingerbread doghouse, and you were afraid it would collapse like my Weasley one, so you built it solid like a brick shit-house?
We watched Firefly on your compute and fought over who got to sit in the control seat? (the recliner was really more comfortable.)
We "road tripped" to the Parkway and slept in your safari wagon?
You washed my hair with the yummy shampoo?
We drove to Farmville and you met John, and then we went to Harrisonburg to meet Lauren, and she was all different?
I bought you a magenta silk tie?
~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/13057626/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/13057626/ Wed, 23 May 2007 22:36:56 PDT
You said awful things to me tonight about which you'll never get to say, "I was just hurting" or "I'm sorry." I'm going to assume that you've said them and forgive you. I also forgive your hurtful hands.

A few hours ago things weren't good, but they were bearable. Now it feels like everything around me has caved in on itself--like my Weasley gingerbread house last Christmas. Those were good memories.

This is not. You're in a place I wish on no one. You don't want this to go further, but it's all out of my hands at this point. I have to remind myself that you did this, not me, and I'm not evil like you said.

I'm so sorry it's gone this way. So sorry you have to pay these consequences. So sorry that absolution doesn't go down the justice system's throat easily.

I'm also scared for you, your family, your future. Come out strong, and please succeed in life after this.

For the first time in a long while, this whore prays.

EDIT

We shall not sleep...

I had never experienced luxury until the night you were taken away and I laid in my bed, feeling every fibre in my 1000-thread-count sheets. Dad put whipped cream in my 10 a.m. coffee the next morning, and I imagined you'd be standing for counts right about then.

No deoderant. State soap. Oily toothpaste. No dignity. This is lunch time.

I cut into my orange-glazed chicken at dinner knowing what luxury was, and it soured in my mouth. I am so very aware since the moment we stopped existing for each other. This is what I tell myself though you are more real for me today than any phantom touch, or bruise, or culling song left-over in the deep recesses of my childhood.

...though poppies blow...

I'm tired of the daggers in my tongue that stabbed you into spilling bruises from your hands. This. Is. So. Animalistic.

Love has evaded me all my life--there's a red and nude battlefield in my head with Cupid's arrows surrounding me in shrouds of near-hits and almosts, but I'm firing back to save myself.

Oh, cliche's.

This, I think, is the closest I've come to reciprocal love. It is also the closest I've come to reciprocal hate. Psychologists have words for these relationships--when hearts beat with fist-shaped squeezes. Diagnosis. Diagnoses. Diagnonsense. Tell me something I don't know.

I just wish that one last time I could shape your shaking hands to the palm-molded bones of my face and tears and bruises and snot could be forgotten in silent kiss...

in (the fantasy of) Flander's Fields.

I'm going to keep myself busy pretending to re-cover. Past relationships have shown me I can get over pretty much anything. My rebound time gets extended with every blow, but I'll make it. Tomorrow I'm going to spend the day with my knees in the soil and my sackcloth-n-ash body praying you-ward because I'm not sure where else to turn. You used to guide me, but now I think it's my turn to guide myself home.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/12122974/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/12122974/ Fri, 09 Mar 2007 19:55:57 PST

December since a journal entry. July or August since anything written. I think I've lost that "live" spark I had his summer. August was a good month full of warm beer and beaches. May of last year was so uncertain, but by August I seemed to have found everything alive. February, and everything's dead or dying. I think the winter does it to me. I think it's that though I love the cold Virginia woods, I can't help but feel that beneath the dead crunch of my feet, something is boiling.

...now that you've let in the cold...forgive the reference.

It had been a while since I surrounded myself completely in music. I'm getting more and more back into it, and I feel better than I have in a while. I kind of had an epiphany recently, and I acknowledged that there are multiple ways that people listen to music. This appears to be complete narrow-mindedness, I know. I just hadn't really thought this out completely. I remember a while ago, I dated this guy who has a much more vast database of musical knowledge than I did (especially at the time). It wasn't the number of musicians with which he was familiar that was so surprising, rather what he knew of them or how deeply he could define their music to himself. While listening to a song for the first time, he could take in every element about that song (vocals, instrumentation, lyrics, composition, etc.) simultaneously. He could then make a reference to said song that I wouldn't get--and it could be a song with which I felt fairly familiar. I think back now at all the things he said to me that I didn't get at the time, and realize either he was more clever than I gave him credit, or he was a complete moron devoid of any meaningful social skills. I'm leaning towards the first option. It took training, but I know hear whole songs, and I'm proud. I was made aware of all of this when driving down the road with the current beau (see: Exhibit John Lennon from the end of this past summer. Yea, whoa, it's lasted this long...) listening to "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." (his favourite Sufjan song) for about the millionth time, and he doesn't know lyrics. He says they aren't so important to him, but hey, he's a Lennon fan. He likes the voice man, the voice. And instrumentation. "Illinoise" as a concept album is lost on him, but he still feels it, so not all is lost. He -does- listen to lyrics with Beatles songs, and this got me to thinking that one can somewhat ignore lyrics in certain types of music (some metal is like this for me), but some artists DEMAND that you hear what they say. A few for me are Regina Spektor, Sufjan Stevens, Tom Waits, The Decemberists, Radiohead, The Stones, Pink Floyd, Bruce Springsteen, etc. (There are so many for me now, but these are my past week's thoughts) For some reason all of this was surprising to me and now give me another base of comparison when I'm thinking about what comprises "good" music.

So, what music have I fully embraced recently? I made a playlist for Jay with music ranging from ReSpekt to Billy Joel to Remy Zero to The Shins. We drove to Richmond to eat at this crappy 24-hour diner on 4th and listened to it. Other than that, he's always with me, and we listen to ReSpekt and Sufjan (and Beatles) mostly. Music feels right again.

In other news, there isn't much. I went to visit my best friend from Longwood last weekend. The drive was the best part. We drove through Farmville and then went on the "route" to Harrisonburg. Eight hours of driving to go essentially what could've been 120 miles. Seeing Lauren was good, though a little stressful. She's still caught up in the life I left behind, and I miss the person she was. Morally, I don't know how I feel about this.

Mrs. Fingath (yes, mRs.!! that means there's now a Mr. Fingath) has been talking to me, and I've missed her like whoa. We mobthtath are back in bithnethth. I've got my pianah wiyah, how 'bout you?

I've been lurking here recently though avoiding much commentation because I feel like I don't have anything creative to add anymore. I'm working on this. I've forgotten none of you.

Ms. Claire, I need your address. I have something for you.

Ms. Heather, are you at the same address? I also have something for you. We've slacked on our pen-pal-ing, but I'm ecstatic that life is better for you. The world is rounder when you are smiling.

Here's to things anew.

Always,
Me.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/11017740/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/11017740/ Sun, 10 Dec 2006 13:23:17 PST

So it feels like it's been days and weeks and months and years since I last wrote a dA journal entry. I stay busy, but lurk occasionally. I drink a lot less than I used to. My circle of friends is wider. My family is larger >.< I live over at his house for the most part sleeping with him on the couch bed in his room waking each other up in the middle of the night just to tell each other secrets we already knew. Living this way is wonderful.

I've never been so excited about Christmas. I know it's going to be a let down when I finally experience it because then everyone will pack up their lights and ribbons and bows and go back to being grouchy...without a Perry Como special.

It's amazing how quickly (and yet slowly at the same time) a year can pass. This time last year, I was excited about getting engaged. I was making list after list of things not to forget...too busy to realise that I'd already forgotten why I was doing those things in the first place. This year I have family. Christmas is Jay's family every day of the year. This year needs are met abundently and with love...even though my body has chosen this to be the perfect time to decay.

Anyways.

I hope all are well and in good spirits---if not Wild Turkey makes a great mood enhancer.

Take care all.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/10576773/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/10576773/ Sat, 04 Nov 2006 12:23:14 PST

I've managed to stop thinking about you on a daily basis. Managed to stop associating you with everything I once did. It's been a long haul since last May, but I am healing nicely now that I've stopped re-opening old wounds. This will be the last time that I directly write about you, and it's not because you aren't worth it. I'm not going to write about you anymore because now that you're a great distance away, I can see you better. I thought that I could see your pores being so close, but all I saw was skin. The meat that is you is much more translucent from 1400 miles away. Your life just seems so bitter, and you pretend to like it. I think you wish for something better, if just a little. Love did not exist here, though I thought it did. I like this thought process--all skin and bones and honesty with myself. Thank you for the mental preparation, kiddo. I now know what I want, and I can it.

I so want to feel that I'm bursting at the seams because I'm full of life, and sometimes I'm manic enough to act this way. There's a lot of hurt going on right now, but there is also a constant. I am being proven wrong by a boy in all the ways that count. He isn't full of hurt-words or angry fists, and he doesn't seek me out to use me. I've been meaning to steal this wool hoodie of his, and he knows it. Brought it to my house tonight, and it smells like him and his house. It's comfortable like the presence of his hands and just as free of pressure .

Words are never "just words" anymore.

I spent this past weekend at Jay's house without him in it. Pumpkin-carving party to watching Gene Hackman submarine war movieness. I read part of his favourite book on the couch in his room just because.

I didn't drink today, and I didn't need to. (The apocalypse is coming soon.)

Fuck grammar.

Cold fries have now replaced poultry on my food pyramid.

I have a new hookah buddy named Frank. He has a Mya acrylic (boo!)

After a few month hiatus from musical instruments, I have been playing Beatles songs religiously on the piano.

Heather, I'm wondering about you, but I think you're sleeping.

Road trip coming soon!!! Photos of foilage to come soon.

And that is my life today.

Oh, and Happy Halloween.

EDIT:

Stolen exercise from Heather. Here: [link]

My 11 Things:

1. Lewisnoski was never a person, though we thought he was. Falling in love with his letters was pointless because he was just a pseudonym of a deranged writer--writing for kicks in falsified boy-font.

2. I wish I could exist inside hwy 56 with you forever with the bass of a borrowed car vibrating our backs. I wish I could remove "F" and "G" from the alphabet of your mind forever, and stop your family from ever knowing that we failed miserably.

3. I still have your red hoodie with the black cat on it--the one we got when you were in love with puffy duck. I know you have the 3.5 books we bound in red velvet and green ribbon. I wish the sandcrabs would've lived.

4. "I just don't think..." is all I remember about you, and I'm glad.

5. I'm sorry.

6. Brokedown Palace Soundtrack, track 5. I didn't stop listening to it for a month, though I told you I wanted you to leave forever.

7. You claim that you don't know how to show that you care about people, but that's bullshit. Isaac N. Smith knows otherwise, and so do I. I'm glad that we've patched things up, and i wish you would be honest with yourself. How many stars can you count tonight? (I'd rather waste some time with you.)

8. I'm working on getting over my superficiality. When I have, we'll mean something to each other. This isn't fair to you, but you are still my grape.

9. I hate how you always mispronounced my name. I know you were lying about being an Ansari, but I didn't care.

10. You remind me of Saul Williams and Mary Karr, but more pretty. Stop writing fluff.

11. I regret none of this.

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/10342894/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/10342894/ Mon, 09 Oct 2006 23:46:05 PDT

I have all but disappeared. I lurk still and have forgotten none.

I anticipate this to be a slightly negative journal entry, so those of you with weak stomachs can stop here.

An update:

Mr. Wonderful was apparently a figment of my imagination. Sure, David Addams, the boyfriend, existed but not as "Mr. Wonderful". What seems to be too good to be true, -is- too good to be true. He cried out for attention with an "It's over" text message, and I said, "Perfect." This led to more yelling on his part during which he accused me of infidelity--which is not beyond me, but not this soon--and I gave him the axe. He called back to apologize, and I bid him farewell. A later revelation: he was dating a high school girl (who is under 16), and they are now madly in love. Cute story, huh?

I currently have one major romantic interest. He is average-looking, but such a wonderful person that I am absolutely amazed every moment I'm around him. He doesn't know this, of course, but tonight something of interest transpired. We were walking in Colonial Williamsburg tonight after class, drinking coffee, rewriting the Constitution in our heads, and we saw a shooting star. I made a wish. He made a wish. Later, while sitting on ye olde front porch steps of CW, he asked me what I had wished for. My answer was really boring, I suppose. I wished to know what fulfillment was (so that when I complain about not being it, at least I'd know what I was missing). He balked at reciprocation, so I moved on. Then he started talking about limerance (did I butcher the spelling? Soc. Psych. majors?) and how he felt selfish blah blah blah. So, I got him talking, and he tells me he is interested in me. I've forewarned him about how I may -seem- like a good idea, but in reality, I am not. He is comfortable to me, and sooo so so intelligent. Perhaps this is my time to get over my vanity. Yesterday, we went to Richmond to pick up my hookah from Muhammed. We walked about eighty billion miles in the city over that weird bridge to the island. The James in Richmond has rapids because of how much rain we've gotten in the last few days. He tight-rope walked to an area that was tres cool...a little natural pond that is formed inside a huge slab of rock...like a mini-Grand Canyon. We saw watersnakes, a chipmunk, ducks, and a dog-sized rat. A spider attacked me, and I screamed. We took photos:

Temporarily edited.

This one turned out funny.

Temporarily edited times two.

I am doing okay, and perhaps later I shall write more. All exes have received the axe. Be proud of me. (I expected this to be sadder. Hmm.)

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/10204221/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/10204221/ Wed, 27 Sep 2006 14:09:09 PDT

Remind me again of how no one is obligated to care, and it reminds me of how no one does. I'm accepting this fate of being considered trashy. I'm that girl you can't take home to mom and dad. I've got a few tricks left to turn, yes, but after that I'm cashing in my stocks. This is Playboy on Wall Street except without all the money and beautiful girls and Heff. I guess I'm glad my life has amused you enough to call so you can objectify me or inquire about my financial situation. I'm not good enough to pay the bills without reminders. Gimme another night; I'll get the money from your father.

I'm waiting for the lyrics to your next song, a biography on me about incest and love-making with angry fists in my face. I'm waiting on the next flight outta here, but trash is trash no matter where I go. How did I go from being decent to being this?

]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9889485/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9889485/ Mon, 28 Aug 2006 20:22:32 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan Stevens--A Sun Came!
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Eternal Sunshine, last.

So, I shot David an email this morning saying everything I wanted to say. I told him how uncomfortable I felt, and that I really wanted to slow down. His response shocked me, and I am now assured that he really is as decent as he acts. This is what he said:

Date: Aug 28, 2006 3:26 PM Flag spam/abuse [? ]
Subject: RE: No Subject
I guess all I can say is that I am sorry. Not everymoment of my life has to be planed out. For the time being it kinda has to be that way so that my parents don't flip on me. I will keep my hands to my-self and I hope that this is not the end. I will try and not push you away. I kinda go the feeling that it might have been over lastnight. I will focus our conversations on something other than a potential future with "us" in the eqation. Fyi the brakes are on and you get to choose the pace. I really do like spending time with you because I can talk to you and I may not be your intellectual equal, but that doesn't mean you can start your teaching career early with one student. I am sure that you have a vast amount of knowlage that I do not have and I would like to learn from you with our conversation. So I hope this is not the end.

David or Davey u choose

I finally feel like I did the right thing by telling him what I was thinking. Maybe things will get better...

On to other things. My puppy's prostate has somehow gotten HUGE. So, today, he is officially neutered. I feel guilty like I've made him less of a man-dog. He's angry and groggy and biting everything. I know this was the best decision, but I feel like a bad mommy.

Question: Is it wrong to maintain conversation (sometimes on a sexual level...though never materializing into the physical) with an ex (with whom there is no longer an emotional attachment) while dating Mr. Wonderful (with whom I desire nothing sexual)? Even if Mr. Wonderful is not aware?

Question: What makes you happy?

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT.
AND SMOG.
AND THE DECEMBERISTS.
AND CATALDO. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9874866/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9874866/ Sun, 27 Aug 2006 15:39:56 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Cataldo
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Party Monster

Mr. Wonderful might be too wonderful. My parents are constantly asking me if I am screwing it up, and David is asking the same questions of himself. I'm actually kind of fed up to speak frankly. He insists on touching me 24/7...calls incessantly...he's too nice. He's already buying me gifts and talking about the future, and it's freaking me out. I find it a bit repulsive. He doesn't even know me, and he's planning his educational future around my goals. I'm not ready for this. Everything of yours, he asks me to get rid of. Every musical interest, he wants gone. I'm thinking of running back to MO just to get away. I didn't really have a reason to leave except for medical, and that's being sorted out. August 31 is my last treatment, so, I'm free after that. I started classes, but I could get a refund and just take classes back there. I had a job. I was okay-ish. My parents are odd here, and I remember why I left in the first place.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT.
AND SMOG.
AND THE DECEMBERISTS.
AND CATALDO. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9832506/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9832506/ Wed, 23 Aug 2006 21:05:29 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Cataldo
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Party Monster

So my evening routine after the day is done and I am tired is now smoking shisha on the back porch--like white trash, I might add. Layalina fig at the moment. Delish.

I had another lovely day. A day that may spark my writing again. Had a second date with the David-character. My parents affirmed that he is a gentleman and completely sweet. He met me at an intersection. Blocked traffic to come to my window and give me a kiss. I haven't smiled so much in a while. <<<--------see that? It's me smiling. A picnic date is planned for Friday evening, and I'm replacing the ex's hoodie with his. I think this is a big step for the "moving on" process. I'm treated like a lady, even if I'm not. Treated respectfully--I'm not a bitch or a whore or a floosy. I'm a nice girl to him, and that makes me smile. I haven't yet told him of my past. I don't know that it's necessary because I may be getting over it. He gives neck massages that turn my insides to margarine and sweet likkle kisses that are so soft. I am happy so soon, and that scares me, but he's absolutely wonderful!

In other news, school here is starting. Guess I'm committed to stay for a spell. Know anyone who's interested in sub-leasing in the downtown KC area? Hmmm.

Hope all are well. More later.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT.
AND SMOG.
AND THE DECEMBERISTS.
AND CATALDO. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9820673/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9820673/ Tue, 22 Aug 2006 20:32:01 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Cataldo
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Party Monster

I think for now I'm going to stay back home. I'm in no real hurry to get back to MO, and I'm kind of craving small town college life again.

A strange occurence: yesterday, after registering for some shit classes, I met a fella by the name of David Addams with whom I hit it off wonderfully. Turns out I registered for a class that he is also in, and we smoked hookah on my parents back porch. Havana Banana and Honey--tres delish if you are in need of a good smoke. He's tall, dark, and handsome to quote the cliche, and my parents love him. He's a good boy too, though potentially needy, and this relationship did not start off sexually--a first in a loooong, loooong time. We're goin' out on Friday night, and I'm excited.

In other news, I started a new job out here. Hard, hard work, but it should be good for me.

I've cut some people out of my life, so goes it. Ohfuckinwell.

Darian, I'm so sorry I've missed your calls. Don't give up on me yet.

Thus ends the short update.

Go give love. He's gonna be a daddy!!

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT.
AND SMOG.
AND THE DECEMBERISTS.
AND CATALDO. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9739367/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9739367/ Tue, 15 Aug 2006 16:16:33 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: New Pornographers
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Fresh Prince

David G. and I went to DC for a spell. Most frustrating few days of my life, actually. NEVER trust Expedia.com for directions. Since when did "turn onto local roads" constitute accurate driving instructions?? Made my navigational skills look like crap. We did have a great time though. Went to an Ethiopian restaurant, Five Guys Burgers and Fries, and Union Station. It's all about the food, you see. We also went to Mya Saray, the main purpose of the trip to buy hookahs. This is my beaut:


I'm feeling pretty good today, though a bit headache-y. The weather is pleasantly raining, and I'm sitting on my parents' back porch smokin my new hookah. Life couldn't be more grand.

Or could it? Don't think about what it is. Think about what it isn't--dumbest words I've heard yet, but sometimes applicable. The water pump in my car went, so that's money down the drain, but the whole car isn't fucked which is wonderful. Life is still pretty grand.

Hope all are well. More soon.

Always,
Me.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9672657/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9672657/ Thu, 10 Aug 2006 02:32:14 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: New Pornographers
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Fresh Prince

This is how it feels to be inept. After making myself more attractive and working out the issues of my life, it still isn't enough. This is funny because for most, he is nothing special. Overweight. Socially retarded. Mediocre at pretty much everything. So, why did I want it? Maybe I want proof to myself that I'm not so bad. I like it when he tells me I'm sexy. I like it when I'm all that's on his mind (as though he could think of more than one thing at a time).

Announcement: I do not mind being objectified. I mind emotional ties right now. I mind your drastic mood swings. You like it. You don't. You're drunk.

Not even Tom Waits could save you. Not Jarvis Cocker. Johnny Marr. Elliot Smith. Lou Reed or a boy named Sue. Especially not SPM. Fuck him.

I think at this point, I'm going to stop shooting myself in the foot. I'm going to stop all of it. What I -am- going to do is start the goodbye process. This doesn't mean I'm going to stop talking to you or...well, any of the other stuff we do. It means that I'm severing emotional ties because you're not worth it. Forgive Jesus, kid. It's not his fault, even though that's what your god would have you believe.

Last night, you -did- use me, and I know it. I let it happen because I was using you too, like a drug. Too bad your needle's bent now, or you could use again. Disable the user, folks, but don't step in his way; he's big enough now to trample you underfoot.

He doesn't read this (I'm glad), but these words are stronger than the Koran (or so I'm told). Motorboating bastard.

More later.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9596343/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9596343/ Fri, 04 Aug 2006 09:40:19 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Mountain Goats
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Escape From Alcatraz

...I knew it would never last.

This is what it feels like to use and be used. We're talking again. Nothing serious, of course, but I would be lying if I said my heart didn't jump when I hear his ringtone on my phone. Still. Except now, he's calling. The things we talk about...are the same things we used to talk about except now, he's more interested. No strings attached interested.

Such a boy thing. As long as I can keep my figure, I imagine he'll be interested. As long as at the end of it, he's not required to cuddle or call back in the morning.

I almost responded to a personal ad this morning. Almost. Then I realised that that would entail a relationship, and caring, and sex...and that never works out for me. I guess I'm just as guilty as he is.

This is better, most assuredly. There isn't that wave of bitterness in every conversation. Just a lack of trust that I'm working so hard to fix. Why? Why do I care about fixing it? Is this just me being naive and hoping against hope? I've asked myself these questions, and I don't think those are relevant questions. I don't -really- want a relationship with him again. There would still be the problems from the last time: selfishness, disinterest, neglect, distance, ungratefulness--and this doesn't even cover my flaws.

His most current ex, a fugly brunette, says he's immature. not deep enough. blah. blah. blah. I hated her since before he "says" they were dating. *insert eye roll here* She committed an act of indescretion on his bed with a long-time friend of his. I'd be lying if I didn't say that made me smile slightly before realizing that I don't wish him pain. I almost want to yell at her and say, "Hey that's my favourite shallow, immature asshole you're talking about. You only dated for a VERY short time, so, you don't have the rights to call him that." Then, I'd bitch slap her and run. Kind of remniscent of a certain Azz from the Pazt.

I'm switching jobs. Multiple reasons. Now, I don't sell cellphones for the demon of all devils. I do something far more degrading, but I think I'll be able to sleep better at night knowing the world is a cleaner place without all the lies. Oh, God, do I crack myself up.

I've spent 24 hours+ at the doctor's/ hospital this week alone. Finally know what's wrong with me after almost two months of owwies. Ovarian cysts. Biopsy=non-malignant. They blasted the buggers off day before yesterday. I didn't know my uterus could get this mad. I swear a million Egyptians were just killed in the Red Sea of my belly. Eww is right. Depending on how this works, I shouldn't lose an ovary. I find out for sure soon.

On a brighter note, he says I'm "smokin'". I totally am. Eat it up, kids. Eat it up.


LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9538024/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9538024/ Sat, 29 Jul 2006 22:31:28 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Mountain Goats
Reading: Desperation (Stephen King) Forgive Me.
Watching: Escape From Alcatraz

This is the most current photo of my Zach. You now shall see why I am in love with a dog...he is -that- cute.



Tonight I'm taking the night off for writing exercises. I wish for responses on them, so I'm giving it more time. I imagine you all won't respond with your answers anyway. Oh well. Hopefully my workshop will take to them better.

I went to Barnes and Noble today. Had a huge pile of books to buy and realised that I shouldn't be spending my money right now. Instead I sat in the cafe for like seven hours reading and writing. I have big plans tomorrow. The exact same damn thing as today. Except from opening to close. All day. Read and write. And drink white tea. Green apple is my favourite. I listened to every Mountain Goats song EVER today. I can still see his mouth and his head shake as he sang "Hail, Satan" in his stupid Scion. Today it made me laugh, and it didn't hurt nearly so bad. I've had gas pains worse.

I'm making lists of all the books I own or have owned that I need to read or re-read. I have this book about Sylvia Plath (more fiction than fact) called Wintering (by Kate Moses). I always found it to be dry, and I never finished it. Another, A Few Short Notes on Tropical Butterflies by John Murray--never really got into that one either. I can still feel the sting of the cost of new hardbacks at retail. I never minded cost when it was a book I knew I wanted. These, I didn't, and don't. Still, I must read them before taking them to the book exchange. I'm appalled at the idea that I have books on my shelves that I haven't read. I'm working my way through them, and after I get Haunted(Palahniuk) and Love in the Ruins (Walker Percy) I promise I won't read another thing until all of these are read. To include those Steven King books I don't know how I ended up owning.

I'm rambling like whoa. Props to whomever makes it through this.

I went to an upscale used bookstore today. I can't fathom paying $14 for a paperback copy of In Cold Blood when I can buy it new for less. I had the book, multiple copies, in fact. I loaned them out and never got them back. Story of my life. There are certain books one does not loan. i have an unreadable copy of the book. First ed. Signed. I don't even touch it. It sits on a shelf with all the other first eds: Pride and Prejudice, Winnie the Pooh, Tales of Edgar Allan Poe, Cyrano de Bergerac, Kidnapped, and a bunch of two-act plays I found in a Kansas antique mall.

I've started reading the Koran (I'm spelling it American-style. Get over it.) again. And the Book of Mormon. I don't know how anyone who doesn't have some sort of Biblical foundation could understand it. Interesting though.

God and I are not on the outs like I thought. I am on the outs with God. He didn't go anywhere. I did. My life was starting to become a mess again. As of Monday, I'm not allowing it to be. Until Monday, I'm wallowing. I know this is unacceptable, but Monday shall remedy that.

I finished Kahlil today. No more pages. I bought the second book in the "Book of Kells" series for Death Journal Installment 3...281 days left before I die, folks. I better get this living thing under wraps. Anyways, the new journal's name is Apostrophe. This is what he looks like:



Poetry I loved today:
"Nineteen"
Susan Donnelly

I put on the black dress,
although it was much too hot,
left my summer job without notice
and travelled by train all the way
from Boston to Lafayette, Indiana
to prove to myself I still loved him.
The dress felt tight in the sleeves,
I worried about sweat stains,
but black was what you wore
for something important.
From the slow train I watched
the land get flatter and flatter.
My fault, my fault.
A woman going to Muncie
kept feeding her little girl Ritz crackers.
My seatmate, a young soldier,
fell asleep with his head on my shoulder.
... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9527863/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9527863/ Fri, 28 Jul 2006 22:08:28 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: ReSpekt
Reading: Journey to the East--Hesse
Watching: Lebowski

TIPS:
1. Avoid overthinking.
2. Observe the time limits.
3. Look for a spontaneous shift into a different state--the unconscious. Rather than fabricating the answers, simply look and see what comes up.
4. If one game doesn't work, try another. Don't force anything.
5. Learn to identify what your body feels like when that switch into the creative takes place. Observe, but save analysis for later.
6. The object of these games: the sensation you discover so you can use this feeling to catapult your writing.

5 Minutes to Creativity
Can you really get into the zone in five minutes? Yes. Simply choose one of the games, then follow these steps:
1. Relax.
2. Enjoy the discomfort. Accept the demands of the game, blindly following the assignment.
3. Let go. Allow the pattern of the game to take over your mind so your left brain vacates the premises, and your right brain is free to take over.
4. Watch for bodily sensation. Notice the mental and body shift. Try to recognise what the right-brain zone feels like and then go along for the ride.
5. Wait for inspiration. Something creative (a word, a phrase, an idea) will descend as if out from nowhere.
6. Go back in. If you fall out of the zone (surely you will, because the experience is fleeting), refocus on the pattern or structure that got you there.

Exercise Two
Dramatist Anton Chekhov started his career writing short stories. Like most writers, he kept a notebook of observations and character descriptions. But in his earliest stories he said he wouldn't use images and scenes "which are precious to me and which for some reason I carefully saved up and put aside." This restriction helped him write very sparse narratives. He also wrote quickly, usually finishing one in twenty-four hours.

YOUR MISSION: 25 MINUTES

Write a two-page story in one sitting. Start with a title, a first line, or a character. To do this game, you mush adopt an attitude of not caring how it turns out. NO EDITING. The only other requirements are to 1. write from memory only, without notes, 2. end the story before the bottom of page two, no matter how many or how few words you use (longhand vs. computer), and 3. do the story in a series of five-minute intervals--beginning, middle, and end with a five-minute break between each section.

Just so everyone feels comfortable to post their story unedited, I will post mine. I actually am doing these exercises too, and I'm finding my lack of writing finesse to be entertaining to say the least.

My example:
There are how-to books for everything now. Self-diagnoses. Self-improvement. A kid lounges in the bookstore's oversized chair reading up on how to become the next guitar legend. The book boasts a 30% off sticker-- plus 10% if you're a member. It bares Frank Zappa's approval. So it says.

From head-to-toe this kid screams pothead. Tie-dye shirt. Hemp necklace. That sour smell of wet laundry left in a basket for a few days before being dried. He's probably a cook at Taco Bell. He probably gives out freebees to all his stoner friends too.

Behind the Zappa-wannabe is a balding man in his mid-thirties. The climate outside is snobbish and muggy, and this man is wearing long sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He probably has a name like "Peter". Peter with the stupid long-sleeved shirt and shorts. Peter who is looking at a basketball magazine but turning the pages too quickly to be reading the articles. Speed reading is a possibility, but I'm thinking not. What kind of self-help book do you need, Peter?

Not quite so suddenly, a little girl is staring at Peter. Where her parents are I do not know. She barely reaches his knee, but there is no mistaking the height she feels chin tilted high. She tugs at Peter's shirt. Maybe he wears the long sleeves to cover the holes in his arms. This Peter. The climate inside is human, and magazine pages stick to each other. I'm looking at him, and he knows it. Twice now he's opened his mouth, tried to say something, but I look away faster than he can let the words escape. I don't want to be involved with Peter or his alcoholic eyes.

Here is where I fuck up. Self-diagnosis. Here is where I let my guard down and glance his way a second too long. "What are you reading?" comes out of his crooked mouth--a slow Al... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9505849/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9505849/ Wed, 26 Jul 2006 21:38:59 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: ReSpekt
Reading: Journey to the East--Hesse
Watching: Roger Dodger

I've recently become more active on some other writing sites, and I'm becoming increasingly aware of some common writing blunders. This summer, I'm co-hosting a writer's workshop at a local university. I'd like to invite all of you to participate in a few of the exercises I've found. Feel free to respond with your own answers as well.

This improvement-driven theme will be recurring in the next few journals I post. I'm anxious about the responses I'll get and hopeful that at least one of you will respond. Ha. That's a lot of hope. The workshop I'm co-hosting is mainly prose-driven, but a lot of its applications are for poetry as well.

In this first entry, I'm including the first exercise. Please do it.

Building Blocks of Effective Prose
Economy: Burn like sunshine. Be brief.
Smoothness: Everything must connect. Don't use many commas because they break up the flow of a piece too much. Write so that sentences flow without them.
Variation: Be more than a "one-note Johnny". Vary compound sentences with shorter simpler ones. You do not want to be monotonous.
Overused patterns: starting sentences with "-ing" words
beginning multiple sentences with a name or "he/ she"
sentences with approximately the same number of words
Accuracy: Get your facts straight. People do not shop Rodeo Drive if they are living on a fixed income. Babies are not born in a matter of seconds.
Muscle: Use the heavy-lifters--NOUNS and VERBS. Make your writing strong. Modifiers are just that. They "modify" the meat of your writing.

Grammatical problems of note
Its vs. It's
When to use a comma/ when to use a semicolon
Quotation marks with punctuation (Europeans ignore this)
Commas and periods go inside the quotation marks.
Colons and semicolons go on the outside.
Question marks go inside if the quote is a question--otherwise outside.
ex.) "How do you punctuate this?" she asked.
What did she mean by the word "punctuate"?
The word "literally" is often misused. Usually this modifier is overused and bastardized. To say "She was literally walking on air and..." is completely unnecessary. Obviously she wasn't walking on air, and "literally" is unnecessary.
The word "unique" is also misused. It means "one of a kind" and therefore cannot be modified.
"somewhat unique" or "very unique" = totally useless.
Be wary of subject-verb agreement.
Misplaced/ Dangling modifiers: "Being in a dilapitated condition, I was able to buy a house very cheap." = wrong.
http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9470538/ Mon, 24 Jul 2006 06:53:21 PDT

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Deerhoof
Reading: Journey to the East--Hesse
Watching: Roger Dodger

I just wanted to say that I have found the funniest plagiarism I've ever seen. (Funny because anyone who's read anything will recognise this piece right from the title) Feel free to leave ME comments about deviantwhosenameshallnotbespoken's lovely writing.

and the deviantfool is:

(name deleted. you may search my comments to find the threads if you wish.)

Before anyone considers chewing me out, I feel it is my duty to call this one. I've reported it to dA a few days ago, and it hasn't been removed. Therefore, I'll just draw attention to it to the community.

EDIT:

The piece has been removed. Finally. For those who missed it: the kid posted "The Road Not Taken" by Frost as his own work. It's people like this that make me not want to be a part of this site...

EDIT 2:
I removed all names. I am getting responses about dA's new crackdown. I want to complain. This site is to better people who are serious about their craft and to form a community among artists. I feel that calling out those who are STEALING another's work is absolutely right--not morally reprehensible and deserving of bans. Do plagiarists get banned? Hmmm?

I'm bothered greatly by this. I feel entirely censored. I didn't harass the kid. I have no intentions of doing so. I said what needed to be said. It's a shame that the ACLU has taken over even these artistic means...

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9445793/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9445793/ Fri, 21 Jul 2006 09:14:52 PDT

Huddled Beneath the Sky by Rumi

The sadness I have caused any face
by letting a stray word
strike it,

any pain
I have caused you,
what can I do to make us even?
Demand a hundredfold of me – I’ll pay it.

During the day I hold my feet accountable
to watch out for wonderous insects and their dwellings.

Why would I want to bring horror
into their extraordinary world?

Magnetic fields draw us to Light; they move our limbs and thoughts.
but it is still dark; if our hearts do not hold a lantern,
we will stumble over each other,

huddled beneath the sky
as we are.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Deerhoof
Reading: Journey to the East--Hesse
Watching: Roger Dodger

I guess it's about damn time for me to update my journal. Hmm...A LOT has transpired since June 29, but I'm not really feeling like doing a day-by-day account of my life. Every time I do, I feel that much more mundane.

Of note:
Brandon drew a lipstick kiss on the windshield of my car, and it made me feel loved like whoa.
I have spent excessive amounts of money at hookah bars. I need a cheaper passtime. Oh, and I also need to buy my own hookah. A road trip is planned for August with David G.
July 1 my car overheated when I was far from home. Thanks to David G.'s crazy mechanical skills with a radiator and a towel, we fixed my car, and still spent excessive amounts of money on shisha.
I've been praying constantly for peace. I find it sometimes, but others, I think what I have is the furthest thing from "peace".
Brandon introduced me to the movie "Waking Life" which I recommend highly. The making of the movie is just as fascinating as the movie itself. Dream-life/thoughts are strange.
Chris P. was bonded out of jail on July 4 after 86 days. I don't think he's going to change his life around which is unfortunate. He says he's still craving the drugs that put him in there, and as long as he doesn't get caught...
My mom sent me a card reminding me of her love. It was a much needed boost for sure.
I've been thinking about contentment a lot lately. It seems like people are always wanting more. Materialistic crap that doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. After analyzing what I have, I actually -am- more content. I don't need better anything really. What I have is plenty to be comfortable. I need to remind myself of this more often.
When my cellphone contract runs out, I'm not going to renew it. I'll still sell the fuckers, but I no longer want the leash.
Zach (my dog) is sick. Bad back mostly. He can't go up or down the stairs anymore without pain. I'm going to be heartbroken when he's gone.
Sufjan's "A Sun Came" is really, really good. "The Avalanche" too. Listen.
I got a few more letters from Bruce. Saddest line ever: "It doesn't feel like the year has changed (since he's been incarcerated), but they tell me it is 2006 n... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9351973/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9351973/ Wed, 12 Jul 2006 08:19:42 PDT

Saddest Poem
Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: The Beatles.
Reading: Diary. Palahniuk.
Watching: E.T.

I have taken this exercise from who has taken it from Nick Hornby. I welcome all to join in to whatever extent they wish.

Nick Hornby once put together a list of 31 songs that had really, really touched his life, and a couple of years ago, he published them in a strange, rambling and wise little book. Having re-read this book a few days ago, I started to get interested in certain songs, and how and why they touch people. My personal list of 31 songs will be unravelling itself over the next little while (if this does not interest you, I understand -- suspend your DevWatches), and I would dearly like for anyone else out there who is even vaguely interested to formulate their own list, and display it for all to see. And tell me about it.


Song One: Until Morale Improves, the Beatings Will Continue by Murder by Death

Murder By Death, the name, comes from a spoof off of a 1979 murder mystery of the same title. If you are unfamiliar with the group, it isn't metal or anything like the name may sound. As a cellist, part of my attraction to them is the cellist of the band--she is phenomenal.

This song is from MBD's second Album "Who Will Survive, and What Will Be Left of Them?" and is a narrative about a small western (US) town that had become enslaved to the devil.

Lyrics: I walked the road from Tucson to San Antonio with the smell of blood on my breath ninety days of sweat and dirt feels like one night when you've got nothing left till there's nothing left to do but die buckshot is my bread and I'll drink whiskey instead of water cause I can't stand to be sober in this place your hands on my face every step of the way tryin' to peel away the pain I'll drink whiskey instead of water.

A few years ago, I had a really rough bout with drug addiction. At that time, I didn't really look too deeply into the lyrics. I only thought about feeling how "heavy" the music was (which I now realise is just silly). I eventually was arrested with my best friend and put in jail for a time, and this song became our comfort. We started analysing everything we liked about this group (formerly called Little Joe Gould), and found comfort in the entire story of a town being stripped of its freedom and forced under the devil's hand. It seemed to match up with our own struggles,... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9219396/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9219396/ Thu, 29 Jun 2006 10:43:35 PDT

Saddest Poem
Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.


I heart angryfaces and bandananananas.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Diary. Palahniuk.
Watching: Girl, Interrupted. Shuddup.

dA subscription renewed. Check.

Journal Recollections:
6/22/06
I reevaluated my "death journal goals" and determined that in 47 days I really have made progress. With 318 days left, I have a long ways to go of really living. Some of the people I've told about my one-year journey to life think that I'm preoccupied with death. That's silly. I'm totally absorbed in the idea of being a sponge to all things "living". There is no morbid fascination with death here. I'm standing knee-deep in a puddle of goodness.

Tomorrow, David G. and I are going to the hookah bar in the city. He seems to've become an expert on the topic. I'm kind of excited, as it's been a while since I last saw him.

I started a new death journal today. Kahlil. The Andy Warhol journal is dying. Pages are falling out and full with my words, pregnant from life. I love the hand-bound pages.



(That is Kahlil...who is actually Medieval and part of "The Book of Kells")

The last journal had a few pages from when an ex and I still existed for each other. This is the first journal completely extricated from that nonsense. Things are better now, thank God.

David and I smoked Hookah today too...his personal stash.

Today's blessings: standing up to my ankles in the river at 1 a.m. w/ David looking across the water...walking on water smoking hookah.

6/22/06
I received another letter from Bruce. We've decided to start watching a pastor on TV every Sunday together. He's got less than a year now to freedom. This is exciting.

Today's blessings: leaves that splatter on my windshield
Morcheeba
Discounted hookah
handsome Eastern men

David and I went to the hookah bar. Life is a-okay. A few times when I was with that kid it felt like we were back in the day. Other times it was like lonliness was a paperweight on my chest.

6/23/06
Chris Pinzon wrote me today. It seems that he has had drug troubles and is finding himself finding himsel... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9123802/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9123802/ Tue, 20 Jun 2006 07:58:33 PDT


out of the mainstream
Bukowski

after Mickey's wife goes to work
he walks to the back of the court and starts smoking dope
with Harry the house painter.
Harry the house painter has a cowed dog named
"Pluto"
who whines away the day
at the end of a long rope.

I can't blame anybody: people get tired of the
mainstream

I sit inside my place
reading the daily newspaper over and over
again.

then I turn on the tv to the
morning soap operas
and I am glad that I don't live
with any of those women
they are always getting pregnant and are
always unhappy
with their doctors and lawyers.

I snap the set off
consider masturbating
reject that and
take a bath instead.

the phone rings, it's my
girlfriend: "what are you
doing?"

"nothing'."

"what do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"I'm in bed."

"in bed? it's almost noon."

"I know."

"why don't you take a walk?"

"all right."

*

I get up, get dressed and go outside.
I walk south down Western
I walk all the way to Santa Monica Boulevard
go into Sears Roebuck.

there's a blue jean sale on.
I purchase a pair for under $10.
I take the escalator down
and in the candy section
I buy a large bag of popcorn.

then I stroll through the hardware section
looking at tools that I have no interest in,
then to the electronical section
where I stand looking at a series of
sun lamps,
jamming the popcorn into my mouth
and feeling like a total
asshole.



I heart angryfaces and bandananananas.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Bukowski.
Watching: Boondock Saints

My mother's best friend Beth is dying. Stage 4 cancer. Her family has deserted her. Her three girls just don't care. Not Katie. Not Gina. Not Gracie. Bob, the husband, is already looking for a replacement wife. I have known Katie my whole life, and I could choke her for this. That's not the right response I know, but this is just so wrong.

My heart is breaking vicariously...if that is possible.

Beth is staying at my parents' house until she dies. It won't be long, but it won't be long enough.

What kind of words say "good bye" the best?

Help.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9094898/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9094898/ Tue, 20 Jun 2006 06:28:48 PDT



I heart angryfaces and bandananananas.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Bukowski.
Watching: Audrey Hepburn Collection

I wrote angry things that do not belong in deviations or scraps or really even here, but I'm going to write it anyways.

Memoirs of a Fucked Up Childhood:

(Not mine.)
No, yes, mine.
No.

He used to say, "When they're old enough to crawl,
they're in the right position."
and I'd
fulfill his passions in my bed
with sunflower sheets
and books about horses
("Misty" I think was her name.)

Don't squinch your face like that;
it's true.
Not about me, of course.
Yes, me.

NO--was never an acceptable answer
to the pedophilic man
who never left
even though dead
and buried deep in the ground.
Sin did not even describe
his touch
or the way he filled my body
or
the aftertaste of semen on my breath
scrubbed away by a Barbie toothebrush
and blue sparkle-y toothepaste.

Where do I go to heal?
What do I do when my body is trashed
like those sunflower sheets,
when I've graduated to Oral-B,
and Mentadent,
and you.
________________________________________ __________________

I told you I had ugly things to say. I'm not as bitter as this would seem though. Promise.

Life is going well. I've extracted the tumours in my life, cancourous pinheads too. Brandon and I have made a living out of shithole diners, and Kahlil, and death journals, and black art books, and Mambos. Life is good when you have Mambos.

I recently bought three CDs that I should've bought a looooong time ago:
Sufjan Stevens~Seven Swans
The New Pornographers~Twin Cinema
Murder By Death~In Bocca Al Lupo

Seven Swans might be my favourite Sufjan album yet. Very yummy.

If anyone is interested in a fabulous read, John 6 and 1 Thessalonians is definitely key-on. Don't be turned away by the God-Words and all that jazz. As literature and a history book, you'll be fed--even if you don't get the intent. Beeyouteafull.

Read John 6 Pulease. Then tell me:
What are YOU trying to solve on your own steam?

Tonight is Jasper + Kristi movie night at my parents' house. We're watching the Audrey Hepburn Collection, and I'm excited. I bought it at Target for $22, and life doesn't get much better than that. Then, I think Brandon and I are having a write-fest at the Shithole. They better not be out of regular coffee tonight. That's all I've got to say on that.

I met the most wonderful woman two days ago. She asked me to coffee yesterday and we talked about the difference between "discernment" and "judging". We also talked about Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy, Jr. "Angel boy"--I haven't heard that in forever. She said she went to a black church and was all snot and grit and the pastor prayed for her. She said she felt healed as a person, and I asked her if she thought she was broken before. She said yes because now she's full of love and then she wasn't.

1 Thessalonians 3:8--For now we really live, since you are standing firm in the Lord.

(I thought that was perfect for my death journal ideals)

I am down to less than 20 pages in my death journal. Then I can actually write in Kahlil instead of just looking at him all cock-eyed and jank.


Don't forget to tell your dads you love them. Sunday is Father's Day.

You are always in my h... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9074529/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9074529/ Thu, 15 Jun 2006 07:54:04 PDT



I heart angryfaces and bandananananas.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Bukowski.
Watching: The Squid and the Whale.

How exciting is that? ShutupHeatherIknowYouHave80MillionOfThem...

I'm making a list of essential life reading. Feel free to add to the list:

Siddhartha, Herman Hesse
The Reader, Bernhart Schlink
The Exocutioner's Song, Norman Mailer
The Garden of Eden, Ernest Hemingway
The Griffin and Sabine Trilogy, Nick Bantock
1984, George Orwell
Chuck Palahniuk--and I cannot choose just one.
The Wild Hunt, Jane Yolen
An American Tragedy, Theodore Dreiser
Cry, the Beloved Country, Alan Paton
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
In Cold Blood, Truman Capote
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Stephen King (Gasp!)
The Mark of the Lion Trilogy, Francine Rivers
The Giver, Lois Lowry
The Arrogance of Power, Anthony Summers
Harry Potter--all of them, J. K. Rowling
Notes of a Dirty Old Man, Charles Bukowski
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
Ray Bradbury short stories absolutely including:
There Will Come Soft Rains
[link]
http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9050384/ Mon, 12 Jun 2006 20:05:26 PDT



I heart angryfaces and bandananananas.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Bukowski.
Watching: The Squid and the Whale.

changed my mind. details for friends only on myspace.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9017165/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/9017165/ Fri, 09 Jun 2006 09:59:24 PDT

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us!
~Sufjan Stevens
Thinking outrageously I write in cursive
I hide in my bed with the lights on the floor
Wearing three layers of coats and leg warmers
I see my own breath on the face of the door

Oh I am not quite sleeping
Oh I am fast in bed
There on the wall in the bedroom creeping
I see a wasp with her wings outstretched

North of Savanna we swim in the palisades
I come out wearing my brother's red hat
There on his shoulder my best friend is bit seven times
He runs washing his face in his hands

Oh how I meant to tease him
Oh how I meant no harm
Touching his back with my hand I kiss him
I see the wasp on the length of my arm

Oh great sights upon this state! Hallelu-
Wonders bright, and rivers, lake. Hallelu-
Trail of Tears and Horseshoe Lake. Hallelu-
trusting things beyond mistake. Hallelu-

We were in love. We were in love.
Palisades! Palisades! Palisades
I can wait. I can wait.

Lamb of God, we sound the horn.
Hallelujah!
To us your ghost is born.
Hallelu-

I can't explain the state that I'm in
The state of my heart, he was my best friend
Into the car, from the back seat
Oh admiration in falling asleep
All of my powers, day after day
I can tell you, we swaggered and swayed
Deep in the tower, the praries below
I can tell you, the telling gets old
Terrible sting and terrible storm
I can tell you the day we were born
My friend is gone, he ran away
I can tell you, I love him each day
Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged
I can tell you I love him each day
Terrible sting, terrible storm,
I can tell you...




I heart angryfaces and bandananananas.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Bukowski.
Watching: The Squid and the Whale.

Anniversary
~Louise Gluck

I said you could snuggle. That doesn't mean
your cold feet all over my dick.

Someone should teach you how to act in bed.
What I think is you should
Keep your extremities to yourself.

Look what you did--
you made the cat move.

But I didn't want your hand there.
I wanted your hand here.

You should pay attention to my feet.
You should picture them
the next time you see a hot fifteen year old.
Because there's a lot more where those feet come from.


Let's get the shameless promoting done now:






I went to Books-a-Million last night to look for a new journal. I spent too much seeing as they don't last me very long. My Andy Warhol death journal is nearly full of my life, so I figured that I didn't want to be trapped in limbo without a journal. I ended up with this shiny Indian-looking one that has an autograph on the bottom in some Eastern language. I'm calling it "Kahlil" because that is kinda what it looks like. It's amazing what you can tell about a person by what books they choose to sit and read. I enjoy watching people pick and choose which ones to buy, and most of the time, I can almost see their reasoning. Cost is usually not much of an issue for me, but all I bought was the journal and a cup of coffee. I sat and read most of "Meadowlands". I think I need to own that one, but bills are going to be due soon, so, next paycheck maybe.

My mom sent me an old issue of the New Yorker from February. On the cover is Bush and Cheney--Cheney blowing on... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8998062/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8998062/ Wed, 07 Jun 2006 10:43:17 PDT

"Sweet Music" (Bukowski--go figure)
it beats love because there aren't any
wounds: in the morning
she turns on the radio, Brahms or Ives
or Stravinsky or Mozart, she boils the
eggs counting the seconds out loud: 56,
57, 58... she peels the eggs, brings
them to me in bed. after breakfast it's
the same chair and listen to the class-
ical music. she's on her first glass of
scotch and her third cigarette. I tell
her I must go to the racetrack. she's
been here about 2 nights and 2 days. "when
will I see you again?" I ask. she
suggests that might be up to me. I
nod and Mozart plays.

(That made me smile)

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan.
Reading: Robert Jordan.
Watching: Harold and Maude.

Well, religious fanatics, the predicted day of Armageddon has passed. Balls of fiery hail and gargoyle-like minions of hell did not come, a least to the US of A. Maybe tomorrow. If I was God, I think I would bring about the Rapture a few days late...let people get comfortable again, and then BAM!!

Missing: Christians
Missing: Lovers of people
Missing: Lovers of life...

I slept on my back last night which guaranteed me dreams. I had this weirdweirdweird one: I was at my ex's house arguing with his parents except that instead of a house, they lived in a dilapitated trailer. After the argument, the ex went out to his car and I went to mine. He was parked behind me in the driveway. All of a sudden he hauled his fat ass into his car casting a horrified look past my car into a parking lot to the side of the trailer. It was such a scared look that even in the darkness, I could see the iciness of his eyes. Just then, the lights of a white cadillac/ towncar/ crown victoria-like car from the side parking lot flash on and the car creeped up behind me and to the right. For some reason, I freaked and tried to get out of there as fast as I could. A man got out with a rifle very quietly and shot. My car wouldn't start. Then, I woke up.

I got into a fit of letter-writing recently. I wrote a letter to Bruce that requires more than one stamp. I love snail mail. It's so exciting!! Submit your addresses via a note, and perhaps I'll write you too!

I went out with an old friend yesterday that has recently moved to the area too. We went to a quaint little tea shop for jasmine chai and cinnamon chocolate from Belgium. I knew as soon as we walked in that God wanted me there because it gave me the opportunity to introduce new man to Sufjan Stevens as he was playing on their stereo. I smiled so big. Then, we hit up an arcade and played air hockey. We also played ski ball for tickets and got a fair number of them...we blew our winnings on ring pops, twizzlers, and tootsie rolls. We then went to a Mexi-can restaurant for enchiladas and warm beer. I've relaly missed intelligent banter and silly fun. Hah.

Tonight, the lot of us are going to the hookah bar downtown. The lasagna and baklava there is muy delicioso. And then there's hookah, which is, in itself sent from the gods in it's honeyed goodness. Smoke it up, kids!

I'm in need of good visual/ auditory entertainment. What are your top ten movies? Go.

Do it; I'm serious.

More promotion:











~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8957958/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8957958/ Sat, 03 Jun 2006 09:41:58 PDT

"Sweet Music" (Bukowski--go figure)
it beats love because there aren't any
wounds: in the morning
she turns on the radio, Brahms or Ives
or Stravinsky or Mozart, she boils the
eggs counting the seconds out loud: 56,
57, 58... she peels the eggs, brings
them to me in bed. after breakfast it's
the same chair and listen to the class-
ical music. she's on her first glass of
scotch and her third cigarette. I tell
her I must go to the racetrack. she's
been here about 2 nights and 2 days. "when
will I see you again?" I ask. she
suggests that might be up to me. I
nod and Mozart plays.

(That made me smile)

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: The Beatles
Reading: Notes
Watching: BubBubBubble

Bruce wrote again. A bit too personal for me to post here, but it's really nice hearing from him. He seems to have nothing but encouraging things to say.

Jason was in the ER last night. Anxiety attacks due to the crazy amount of stress he's been under for the last week. He thought he was having a heart attack...I feel bad for him. He started using the L-word with me recently. I don't love him, so I don't know how I feel about that. He told me he thought one day I would. I don't want to just settle.

I cut all my hair off yesterday...as evidenced here:



I know you love how queer I look.

I love this (Heather shared it with me):

instructions for a body by marty mcconnell

praise the miracle body: the odd
and undeniable mechanics of hand,
hundred-boned foot, perfect stretch
of tendon

tell me there are no gods then,
no master plans for this anatomy
with its mobile and evident spark

someone says “children of light”
and another, “goddessfragment” and
another, “chosen” / a dozen makers,
myriad paths, one goal:

some scalpel, some chisel, some crazed
sentimental engineer giving rib, giving
eyelash, giving gut and thumb --

all mattering. all set down
in a going world, vulnerable
and divine

in the beginning was the word.

or before time there was a void
until a voice said “I” and was

or there was star and dust,
explosion and animal, mineral, us::

praise the veins that river these wrists
praise the prolapsed valve in a heart
praise the scars marking a gall bladder absent
praise the rasp and rattle of functioning lungs
praise the pre-arthritic ache of elbows
and ankles
praise the lifeline sectioning a palm
praise the photographic pads of fingertips
praise the vulnerable dip at the base of a throat
praise the muscles surfacing on an abdomen
praise these arms that carry babies
and anthologies
praise the leg hairs that sprout
and are shaved
praise the ass that refuses to shrink
or be hidden
praise the cunt that bleeds
and accepts, bleeds
and accepts
praise the prominent ridge
of nose
praise the strange convexity of ribcage
praise the single hair that insists on growing
from a right areola
praise the dent where the mole was clipped from the back
of a neck
praise these inner thighs brushing
praise these eyelashes that sometimes turn inward
praise these hips preparing to spread
into a grandmother’s skirt
praise the beauty of the freckle
on the first knuckle of a left little finger

we're gone / in a blizzard of seconds
love the body human
while we're here, a gift of minutes
on an evolving planet, a country
in flux / give thanks

what we take for granted, bone and dirt
and the million things that will kill us
someday, motion and the pursuit
of happiness / no guarantees / give thanks

for chaos theory, ecology, common sense that says
we are web. a planet in balance or out, the butterfly
in tokyo setting off thunderstorms in iowa,
tell me you don't matter to a universe that conspired
to give you such a tongue, such rhythm
or rhythmless hips, such opposable thumbs –
give thanks... ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8938366/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8938366/ Thu, 01 Jun 2006 08:32:09 PDT


(That made me smile)

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Breakfast in America
Reading: Notes
Watching: Thank you for smoking

Some days, I don't feel much like writing. Writing can become this cloud, this intangible cloud that makes me conscious of too much (too little) too often.

Bruce -did- get my letter, and a few days later, I received a letter in return. Here are portions of it:

"Being in such a negative place because of such serious charges, I immediately hesitated to open myself up to anyone or anything unknown. Why would someone want to write me? How much do they know? How did they find out about me? Several questions went through my mind, but after thinking things through, I decided to wait and read the letter before making any decisions...Part of me was excited to meet someone new. I have to say, your letter was worth waiting for! I admire someone who is willing to open up, like you have, to someone you know very little about. Let me share a little about me. I am 26 years old, an identical twin, and have one of the best families one could have. I have spent my entire life (most of it anyway) trying to reach a dream of mine. I wanted to be a U.S. Secret Service agent." (I'm omitting some important information here, but I don't want to let go of the waaaayyy personal details on the internet)
"Nearly 2 1/2 years later, I am looking at a very different future. God has brought me through this situation. He has shown me favor in ways I could never imagine. I do look forward to what the future holds; I know God has promised me a future (Jeremiah 29:11)."

Death Journal Recollections:
5/24/06 (347 days): Jason told me I'm beautiful today--in a moment without makeup or hair-prettiness. He said that I deserve better, and maybe I do.

Heather and I have been talking about this blessing box idea. What's in your blessing box?

5/25/06 (346 days): Open my heart and mind and eyes and ears, God. I'm nodding off.

5/28/06: Jason's parents were in an awful bike accident. Fatalities and all. I don't want to get into it because it still disturbs me. They'll live, and that's a miracle. I've never seen Jason get like this. Ever. And my heart breaks for him.

5/31/06: Mom bought me roses today. I'm so blessed to have parents like I do. Mom is totally in my blessing box.

Ugh. It seems that every fucking time I'm getting over something, it finds a way back into my life. I'm getting numb to it, so it's all good.

I miss you all,
Kristi.

Check these fools out:







LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8867729/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8867729/ Wed, 24 May 2006 19:51:16 PDT as gentle as a butterfly
fluttering in the
murdered light
you came through here
like fire singing
and when it was over
the walls came down
the flags went up
and love was finished.

you left behind a pair of shoes
an old purse
and some birthday and
Xmas cards
from me all
held together
by a green rubber
band.

all well and good enough,
I suppose,
because
when your lover is gone,
thank the gods,
the silence is
final.




Sometimes, I'm a skeptic too!




...Cuz it still is -that- good...

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sound Garden--how pitiful.
Reading: Notes
Watching: Thank you for smoking

Post-Coital Rituals
Afterwards, he sits on the commode,
lid closed,
smoking a hand-rolled cigarette
while I bathe.
Later, he will tell me I taste like soap
and "that is not genuine".
I'll ask him to join me
let me wash him,
but he always says, "No"
because it's "real" if he smells like me
being "unreal"-- a reminder, he calls it.
His long hair will be wet around the temples
(his upper lip too will have
love sweat on it),
and he'll end up examining himself in the
bathroom mirror before bed.
These patterns have become so fucking comfortable.

Death Journal Remembrances:
5/23/06: I'm sitting at the water today on the grass by the big bridge. It has a name but I can't remember it. I have my pants rolled up and my shirt sleeves too. I miss having a little colour.

Sadly, I miss people from my old life. Where do I find strength? (I know the answer to this, but I must be nodding off again)

5/24/06: I had a bit of a breakdown yesterday at Jason's. Every time he would kiss me or touch me or look at me or fuck me, all I could think was, "You're not who I want and that makes me feel so cheap". He started to ask me questions like "What's so wrong with two people with basic needs filling them for each other?" That was not one of my basic needs. I said, "Nothing. Everything's fine." And I cried. Here's the part where he surprised me...he became all sensitive and soothing and said I had big feet. "I want you to be genuine and real with me. I want you to be human", he said. He told me that I could say anything, and I would never be hurt again. And held me and wouldn't let me go.

I wonder if Bruce got my letter.

More later.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8844673/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8844673/ Mon, 22 May 2006 12:49:33 PDT as gentle as a butterfly
fluttering in the
murdered light
you came through here
like fire singing
and when it was over
the walls came down
the flags went up
and love was finished.

you left behind a pair of shoes
an old purse
and some birthday and
Xmas cards
from me all
held together
by a green rubber
band.

all well and good enough,
I suppose,
because
when your lover is gone,
thank the gods,
the silence is
final.




Sometimes, I'm a skeptic too!




...Cuz it still is -that- good...

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Something Cursive.
Reading: Notes
Watching: Thank you for smoking

Slow Leak Ellen Doré Watson

I don't know how to wish you well.
Your hair is out of control, you are downgraded and strange.
You used to be the man who whopped open his chest,
wandered on a happy shoestring, made a nearly
perfect girl. Times we were electric.
Our talks teased out newness, mixed surprising
pigment. Our battles were not over ground
that mattered, so we walked away from them
with invisible limps, beautiful sticks
with no blood. Thinking ourselves
a perfect fit, we began to forget each other.
The way the roots of a perfect lawn watered too much
get lazy. You thought you should not
have to ask. I thought my private fizzings
and stirrings weightless, but you got sapped.
Your secret began as a scar and turned
to a decision flavored with payback.
The size of my thirst, your silence!
Between us now is the continent we didn't
finish, and one person's regret.
Because you have none, this is what I will never
tell you: I took too many days off
from loving you. And: I thought we could both
get larger. And: Neither of us was the right one
to unlock the other's body. My iron lung
of a father has become soft tissue,
joshing and washing the woman not quite still
my mother—a long tack in a small, hand-made boat.
You and I were so full of beans and promise—
I'm ashamed we failed at forever.


Heather sent that to me because she said it reminded her of me. It reminds me of me too. I wanted to share.

Death journal observations:
5/19/06: God is in a short, stocky man with a short, stocky coke bottle...
Heather and I have been having some interesting God-talks. I'm battling the idea of prayer in my heart/ mind/ bones and wondering why prayer is necessary when God knows my thoughts better than I do. I've been thinking about God constantly, so, every day is like a prayer. Isn't that just as valid as taking a few minutes to relay it all back up?

5/20/06: Totally didn't write.

5/21/06: I got an eval. at work. Very positive. I got a raise.
Boyfriend beat the fuck out of me as evidenced here:


I'm sure that makes at least one of you smile. Oh well, I talked back, but here's the thing. Things are better now.
I -am- more than a hole to hump. Kthnx.
My heart is broken toay. I'm still trying to find God everywhere. Why is he blurry now when yesterday he was so bright and clear?

5/22/06: Yesterday I began to nod off and lose focus on God. I thought I had been doing a good job contenting myself with my present. My present is what I make of it, and right now that's a work in progress. I cried yesterday morning due to the incredible sense of loss I found in my belly. After one of the warmest, sweetest nights of my life, I'm feeling more optimistic. I'm smiling now and meaning it.

More later,
Kristi.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8807267/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8807267/ Thu, 18 May 2006 12:17:09 PDT

(just cuz he's cyut)

"Cleaning the fingernails with a dirty fingernail file is a form of masturbation." Bukowski.

"Some People" (also Bukowski.)
some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.

then, I'll rise with a roar,
rant, rage -
curse them and the universe
as I send them scattering over the
lawn.
I'll feel much better,
sit down to toast and eggs,
hum a little tune,
suddenly become as lovable as a
pink
overfed whale.

some people never go crazy.
what truly horrible lives
they must lead.

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Phil Collins
Reading: Notes
Watching: Lifetime :)

Shameless self-promotion:
I finished the second installment of $2.07 to God today. Do it.
Link to the first installment: [link]
Link to the second installment: [link]

There are a few noteworthy deviants I want to thank for their wonderful, finger-licking God-tasticness:


This woman is second to salvation. I love the God-talks. Delicioso.


I've just discovered this one. A noteworthy piece can be found here: [link]
but for all you lazy bums who won't go there, here is the piece:
God is in the Claw Machines
If there's one thing I've learned from walking in April
[when the buds on the trees come to blows with the sun,
and of course I'm not cold,
it's Springtime.]
It's that there is a truth
in each and every
bad decision.
[You know that I've been wrong before.]

Each case of mistaken identity has led us one step closer
to finding who we really are.

When I was much younger, I used to believe
that there was no beauty in this world.
But that was a long time ago,
before I really existed.
And now that I've met you, I realize that
everything we say is just a little backwards.
[And the moon is just a metaphor
for what we really want.]

Fate is only a speech balloon,
and we're too alike for comfort.
[Both older than we really are,
awestruck and terrified,
and loving the world with every fiber
of our misunderstanding.]

But I promise you:
The word midnight has no meaning where we're going.

They told me that I was standing
on holy ground,
and I laughed as I took off my socks and shoes.

Because God is not in the ground.
Not in the mountains or the beach,
or the landfills.
Not even in the street I cross
when I walk to your window.

God is in the claw machines.
In the broken front steps,
and the player pianos.
God is everything you wish you could say.
[And Heaven is a bus speeding north.]

I pretty much took every plant from my parents house with me. They need names, except for Camelia, who is in fact, not a camelia at all.

I've taken a few minutes to come up with a few books that I must read before dying (many of which I've already read).
In Cold Blood
The Chronicles of Narnia
Revelations
http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8783386/ Tue, 16 May 2006 20:42:01 PDT He owned a small orchard next to the road
that led to my mother's childhood home, and
whenever anyone passing by greeted him, asked
how he was, he is remembered only and always
for replying, "Oh, packing peaches, packing peaches"
which everybody presumed meant
he was doing fine, just fine.
~Leroy Quintana

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Pavarotti
Reading: The Great Whirl of Exile
Watching: Keane



I'm not so sure what I was thinkin'...



I know exactly what -he- was thinkin though...



A current photo...

Hmm...what to say. I haven't written here in a few days, but I think I'll leave the big update for tomorrow.

Ms. Heather Rose, it was very nice talking with you...the investigator will have much evidence with which to polygraph you on the morrow.

Have a nice night, folks.

EDIT 2:
Some offerings from my death-journal...in fragments:
5/12/06--Dad and I went to Tequila Rose, Wal-Mart, and Home Depot. Some great "real life" experiences. We talked about confining God to a box or your heart. I told Dad that God is in bark and your hair and your fingernails...he said he'd never thought of it that way.
Then, at Wal-Mart, we were standing in line, and there was this girl: young--17-20, waiting to purchase a cubic zirconia necklace/ earring set, a Mother's Day card, a gift bag, some tissue paper with stars...she was holding a $20 bill mumbling, "please don't be over $20" over and over again. The total: $22.07. I offered to pay the amount over, but Dad whipped out the cash first. God was in that. Today, I'm truly alive.

5/15/06--10 Things to be thankful for:
1. Finding God everywhere.
2. A newly developing sense of morality.
3. Full-time enrollment in college next semester and books from amazon.com.
4. New friends, and rekindled past friendships.
5. God talks.
6. Stronger work relationships.
7. Harmonious relationships with my parents.
8. My new plant, Camelia--who is not a camelia.
9. Straighter teeth.
10. You.

5/16/06--Do you love yourself?
I'm starting to love myself. God hit me in the face with the realization that I -should- love myself because if He can love me, well, I should too. So, I'm thinking about that, and the only thing that's coming to my head is, "Well, why didn't you love yourself before? You were lovable all along." I am lovable because God says I am, and I'm also beginning to realize that that's all that matters.

As evidenced by Bukowski in "Notes...":
..."I've got an old saying (I make up old sayings as I walk around in rags) that knowledge without follow-through is worse than no knowledge at all. because if you're guessing and it doesn't work you can just say, shit, the gods are against me. but if you -know- and don't do, you've got attics and dark halls in your mind to walk up and down in and wonder about."

Where have you been seeing God?

Where have you not?

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8728856/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8728856/ Wed, 10 May 2006 10:59:15 PDT He owned a small orchard next to the road
that led to my mother's childhood home, and
whenever anyone passing by greeted him, asked
how he was, he is remembered only and always
for replying, "Oh, packing peaches, packing peaches"
which everybody presumed meant
he was doing fine, just fine.
~Leroy Quintana

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Pavarotti
Reading: The Great Whirl of Exile
Watching: Keane

Perhaps, you feel, this is pretend-strength. That I'm internally crumbling, and that my life is just plain fucked. I thought that way just a short while ago, but that was -my- doing. I had stopped doing what made me happy a long time ago, and now...now, I only have 361 days to live. So much is so much more important. I didn't write in my death journal yesterday as I was too busy living. The day went by too quickly. It was my day off, and I spent the day surrounding myself in literature and friends. I got my new tattoo (will be submitted as a scrap, so keep your little eyes peeeeeeled), and it looks fantastic. A seven-inch koi on the inside of my right calf. Blue, green, white, and yeller. I'm loving it so big. My ex, Joey, did this one for me. It was really good seeing him. As per usual, we went to Arby's afterwards.

I woke up this morning thankful to be alive for the first time in a while. I have 361 days, and that's not much time.

What would you make sure to do before dying? I'm all ears.

EDIT:
This was sent to me yesterday, and it made me smile, so I'm posting it:

From: ~girlinlandscape
Date: May 8, 2006, 9:11:11 PM
Hey sweetie pie,

I've kept up on your journal these past couple of weeks, and for what's its worth, the pain passes in its own time. Hope is a tricky little bitch, but I think it finds you when it needs too. Mhhhh also I got curious about you some of your exes' comments, and read his journal. Sounds very whiny and overly self- depracating for what it's worth. You can do better. I hope all is well and getting better.

<3 Michelle

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8705769/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8705769/ Sun, 07 May 2006 23:19:00 PDT
Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: 7Mary3
Reading: The Dead/ Notes of a Dirty Old Man
Watching: the tables turn...

You still visit me here, which I find cute. Actually, I wish to be forgotten by you. No more drama. With you cut out of my life, there's no need for the stress anymore. That's all, folks.

Hmmm...on a more positive note:
I followed Heather's lead on having a death-journal. I'm living this year as though it's the last of my life. What's really important? What is actually worth the time? What makes one's life "accomplished"?

363 days.

I made a life-planning to do list for the next year. It's reasonable and essentially keeps me on track. Got started on that list today. I bought a meaningful gift for my mother for mother's day. It will outlive me. I also started Notes of a Dirty Old Man and The Dead. Both are fantastic. Went to the corporate Barnes and Noble today, drank tea, listened to the ol' iPod, and read some Bukowski. An older black lady asked me about him, and I didn't even know where to start. She bought the book. I got an old black lady to buy Bukowski in a fucking red state. Fab-uh-luss!

I'm also convinced that like shoes, we grow out of our souls. They fit us as children, but without proper exercise, they shrivel up like dead leaves. I babysat for a 2,3, and 5 year-old last night. Incredible kids. I called the little one, Marianne, a pumpkin and she promptly corrected me saying that she was, in fact, a baby. The middle one, James, peed all over the bathroom wall. He was too into the conversation to notice where he was aiming. Carl, the eldest, plays "Leath Frog" like it's his job. Next, it'll be Halo. I feel it coming. I'm beginning to see the wisdom of childhood and the youth of souls.

7Mary3--totally coming here. So is Bauhaus, NIN (ick...sometimes), Willie Nelson, Boney James...I'm excited. Anyone in the 757 check it out, yo.

I'm also feeling fulfilled at the moment. I had a wonderful evening of good conversation, chicken marsala, and Dr. Suess rhymes. Heard a good line in a rap song today: "Call me subwoofah cuz I'm the free base pusha". I laughed so big.

Heather, I promise I'll respond to everything in the morning. The drama is settling down on dA. I'm done fighting ugly--or fighting at all. People can say what they will. I can't change that, so why care?

I hope all are well. I will put up a piece in progress probably tomorrow or Tuesday. Gettin a new tattoo on Tuesday...meeting up with an old ex (Joey..Otis, you'll remember him) to get it done. It tells a story, and it says, "Good bye."

A million kisses to all of your faces,
C.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8688381/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8688381/ Sat, 06 May 2006 11:41:57 PDT
Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: everything
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

Everything's kosher. Federal law regulates money and priviledged information. Am I worried? Not one bit.

Edit:Faggot went to the police because he claims I deleted his myspace. Isn't that cyut? Can you imagine a judge on that one???

My, my, my, it's been the last three years that have been a complete waste. I've got news more exciting than the big bang, but uh, I think the shock value is too much to waste. Te he he.

Keep your eyes peeled...a tornado's comin' through your trailer park.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8666853/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8666853/ Wed, 03 May 2006 21:46:10 PDT
Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: everything
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

I have a few things to say, and then...well, I don't really know what happens after that.

I have the biggest secret I've ever had in my life right now. It's so big that I want to tell everyone, but I don't know that that's wise. I have one person in particular that I feel should know, but then, I guess I don't think he should. I need advice. Heather, where the fuck are you?

An offer has been made to me that I cannot refuse. I'm moving in three weeks. To fucking paradise with painted cows. And avocados. Lots of them. Wish me luck?

The past is just a memory. I'm finding strength in my pretend-strength. I will forget...and the move will help.

Love to most...no, love to all, even you.

C./ K./ Bean.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8659662/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8659662/ Wed, 03 May 2006 07:50:49 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: everything
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

"Empty your pockets, and give me all your thoughts," I want to say but can't (insert: won't). You told me yesterday that when you see young married couples it makes you feel pity.
"They're desperate to keep each other because it makes them feel better," you say.
"I wasn't."
"Sure."
It wasn't desperation that kept me trying to keep you--at least in my mind.
"Things just have to settle down," and you go.
________________________________________ __________________

I'm wanting that years from now when I sit in reveric memory of this time I will see that we both were made stronger. Today, we are both broken though not crippled.

Marriage is not a cop out. I am not some chameleon puzzle piece that will fit just anywhere, and neither are you.

Today is the day I stop writing letters.

Answering phones.

Gone.
________________________________________ __________________

Strange things are going on in my head. I'm more stable about the whole crying thing, but I'm even more needy of affection.

Current boyfriend: Jason. Plumber. Totally not my type. Was once abusive. Dated him before. Shallow. Over-sexed. Not ever his ex-girlfriend (4 years it's been) Heather. Still has nude photos of her in his wallet. Virtually illiterate. Smells like cars. Long hair. Cherokee. Smokes waaaay too much pot. Hmmm...it's interesting what I have in store for me now.
________________________________________ __________________

Are these desperate words of a desperate girl? Perhaps I should go back to being a recluse. I enjoyed being a hermit. Tonight, I am gonna be a hermit and watch good movies and write. Hmph.
________________________________________ __________________

Oh, and past loves...ciao. *kiss kiss, bitch* I'm going to get better whether or not you want me to.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8640541/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8640541/ Mon, 01 May 2006 11:28:35 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: everything
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

There's something about seeing my words in print that's inhuman...
like being told a sotry
opposed to seeing it first hand.
You cannot see my scrawl
on scrap paper
or hear the sound my pencil makes
as my thoughts become tangible.
It's quite unsettling really.

Wait. There's more.

I'm pulling these silly hopes out my head,
and they're sticking like
spiderwebs to my fingertips.
I've tried to wash them off.
Start over,
but they won't wash away,
and I'm forced to wear them
with the (un) pride of scars...

Does anyone else remember that movie "All Dogs Go to Heaven"? I love it so big. And "Milo and Otis". I used to be a likkle Milo.

I just bought another Steven Soderbergh film. I love him big too. It's called "Keane". Go now. Watch it.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8621041/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8621041/ Sat, 29 Apr 2006 12:17:49 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: everything
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

I'm having thoughts like Spring again.
Re-birth.
Slough off my old skin, and let me wear yours.

Every word is a poem;
every letter a song,
an ode to you for making
the sun so bright
and ground so warm.

God.

No longer a hole between my legs
or a void in my heart
where heat does not coagulate
into love or blood and sinew.
(did I just use sinew?)

I'm writing like my life depends on it
(the way it's supposed to be).
My tongue is splitting open
and words keep oozing out in chains.

Let them spill you-ward
find you
devour you
coat your body with many colours
so that your feet never grow cold
and your heart is not empty.
These words can stick to your eyelids
(like sequins),
and make your face shine like the sun.
They cannot combat gas prices,
or AIDS in Ethiopia,
but in the (write) setting of coffee,
cigarettes, and good conversation,
they can make you feel whole.





I think I need a "life editor". Kind of like Microsoft Money, but that follows me around going "no, no, no. This is a baaaad idea." Where the hell is Jimminy Cricket when you need him?

I think I can write again because I'm sad again. Ironic how melancholy's infinite sadness makes your fingertips leak ink...

My mom and dad bought me new furniture this week. Everything is antique white and red. I'm in love. Speaking of love, I'm strangely happy while being incredibly sad. I know that things will not always be as they are now. I know that I have positive choices that I have no reason not to make (what strange wording). I guess what I'm saying is that I'm gonna be okay. At least, that's how I feel today.

Let's stop being analytical about sadness. God's in the air. I think I heard him cough when I blew smoke out of my nose.

My caterpillar that I've been watching in the back yard has built himself a cacoon (sp? ick) on a tree. As a caterpillar, he is Mo' Ped. As a butterfly, he will be Victoriana.

Pollen makes me sick, but it's too beautiful to be cooped up any longer.

Hope all are well (There's that word again),
C.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8582008/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8582008/ Tue, 25 Apr 2006 14:04:05 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: everything
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

How does the world see me ?
Loser- Beck

Will I have a happy life?
The Prodigal- Sacha Sacket

What do people really think of me?
Palimpsest- (Smog)

Do people secretly lust after me?
Pretty Piece of Flesh- One Inch Punch

How can I make myself happy?
Alla Luce Del Sole--best version by Josh Groban

What should I do with my life?
Political Science- Randy Neuman

Will I ever have children?
I'm Your Problem Now- Mindless Self Indulgence

What is some good advice for me?
Won't Get Fooled Again- The Who

What do I think my current theme song is?
How to Fight Lonliness- Wilco

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
In a Letter- Even in Blackouts

What song will play at my funeral?
Whistlin' Past the Graveyard- Tom Waits (kinda kidding. kinda not.)

What type of women do you like?
She's Got a Way- Billy Joel

What is my day going to be like?
It's a Good Day- Perry Como

Why am I here?
God's Dice- Pearl Jam

What will people remember me for?
Gone Crazy- Marcy Playground

What song will I get stuck in my head tomorrow?
A Long December- Counting Crows

Are there people outside waiting to take me away?
Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois- Sufjan Stevens

What will this year be all about?
Tears and Sympathy- Jars of Clay

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8549443/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8549443/ Sat, 22 Apr 2006 09:50:06 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Satch Boogie
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

...he said he loved me "today, but only today".
He was talking about heart-shaped holes and how the sun is only constant because I make it so, but it's raining today, and I've yet to see it.

Oz said that my words are stronger than the Koran, but that's just bogus because he didn't even know about the Koran until yesterday. How is that possible?

Oz said something silly yesterday. It was buried in between all the hurtwords and hatewords that I can't fathom taking anymore. I don't protest. How is it that boys seem to find the anger in themselves when they're with me?
Hurtwords of the week:
"I wish you would kill yourself."
"If you killed yourself now, I wouldn't be obligated to attend the funeral. I'd be in better financial standing."
"What did your father rape you as a child?" (Insert jovial laughter here.)
There have been so many hurtwords this week, and I'm far more stressed than I ever thought I could stand. I'm making it though. I don't cry anymore when his hands are choking me into submission. I don't cry anymore when I think about how you don't love me, and you never will. I'm getting hardened, and I'm proud of myself.

Joe Satriani is my lover.
Our only form of protection
is his instrument
between us
and in us.
He doesn't have Morrissey-hair,
pighands,
or the taste of my
cunt
on his lips,
but it's a love affair,
and it's growing quickly.

I'm going to see Wilco tonight. By myself.
Hopefully I won't cheat on Joe with Mr. Tweedy. MMMMMM.

Love and Hates,
C.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8540841/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8540841/ Fri, 21 Apr 2006 12:26:33 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: (Smog)
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

Enough of love unrequited.

These things don't last.
Not as long as the pen that wrote them into existence.
Not as long as stop lights stay yellow.
Not as long...

We move onward and upward
(as I jump from one cliche to the next).

We've been sitting in this theatre too long,
dear Donny,


Dear Donny,
We've been sitting in this theatre too long,
dear Donny,

oh wait, you already said that.

Sometimes I think about kissing you, and there is this mental picture I just can't shake. I kiss you long and deep and I suck in the air you breathe. It makes my lungs turn black, and I can't help but wonder who's sucking the tar out of your lungs now that I can't...

Or I wonder if your bucket of Iloveyous isn't overflowing somewhere near your spleen.

Again, enough of love unrequited.

Onward and upward.

WANTED: ONWARD
WANTED: UPWARD

Where do I go from here?

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8529017/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8529017/ Thu, 20 Apr 2006 07:45:43 PDT Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: (Smog)
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

So, morning has officially come after a long stormy night. The sun is bright and irritating, but I really welcome the change. I can see out in front of me now.

I'm thinking of ending the relationship with Oz already. I'm unhappy with his choices. He's a rebound boyfriend which isn't wholly fair to him, but I'm not so sure I welcome his presence in my life at this point. There are too many similarities between the two of you that when I'm with him, I think of you. It's gotten rather depressing really. Even down to when I kiss him, I think of you. Unhealthy? Yes, but it's all I've got right now. I still haven't washed that pillowcase. I still cuddle it at night when I go to bed. I still hurt, but I'm doing better. I'm no longer an inch away from crying. I think I've progressed to a foot. Anyways, Oz is manipulative, and I'm not ready for that yet.

Right now, it's best just to work on being better for myself.

Expect great things, folks.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8497822/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8497822/ Mon, 17 Apr 2006 09:05:53 PDT
Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Billy Joel
Reading: Microsoft Money??
Watching: the tables turn...

I'm feeling good today even though my circumstances half-suck. I got slapped in the face with reality today, and I can't believe how jaded my views on things have been...

1. He never did love me.

2. He never will.

3. It isn't just -me-. It's him too. He's selfish, rude, and just generally a chump.

4. I'm not committed to loving him, and I have people in my life that are capable of a good reciprocating relationship.

5. Under these realizations: I can move on. I don't have to remain in the Doldrums forever, folks.

New interest: the name's Oz, and he -is- a success as a human being.

Yes I realize that I'm being mean and spiteful, but he doesn't have to read what I post, and he can go fuck himself if he takes offense. Kthnx.

Expect great things, friends. The worst is over.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8476856/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8476856/ Sat, 15 Apr 2006 12:34:05 PDT I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky

-bukowski-

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: the echoes of your heartbeat
Reading: an Ohio roadmap that led me to you.
Watching: you throw me away. again.

There's this boy named Oz.
Oz wants to be my lover.
He wants to be my friend too,
but, frankly put, he isn't you.

I have to sound just like the millions of other melancholic deviantArters (what a laugh), and maybe I am, but at this point, I just don't give a fuck. I'm running my life over and over and over in my head, and I can't figure out when everything turned from struggling to "over". I have this little hope that I'm fucking clinging to for dear life. I don't want us to be "over" "forever". I want this to be the point where I get stronger, and you want me back. This rejection hurts worse than any other.

You just call me names and say hurtful things.
You blow me off when you say we can talk.
I want to scream and hit and punch and bite.
I want to hold you and kiss you on the cheek and feel okay again.
I want hope again.

Maybe this is just a manifestation of my weakness.
God dammit I just want to yell at you to love me again.
My body is so fucking tired of crying and rejection.
I'm reaching out.
Please come back.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8467642/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8467642/ Fri, 14 Apr 2006 09:33:53 PDT
A CHILD was standing on a street-corner. He leaned with one shoulder

against a high board-fence and swayed the other to and fro, the while

kicking carelessly at the gravel.


Sunshine beat upon the cobbles, and a lazy summer wind raised yellow dust

which trailed in clouds down the avenue. Clattering trucks moved with

indistinctness through it. The child stood dreamily gazing.


After a time, a little dark-brown dog came trotting with an intent air

down the sidewalk. A short rope was dragging from his neck. Occasionally he

trod upon the end of it and stumbled.


He stopped opposite the child, and the two regarded each other. The dog

hesitated for a moment, but presently he made some little advances with his

tail. The child put out his hand and called him. In an apologetic manner the

dog came close, and the two had an interchange of friendly pattings and

waggles. The dog became more enthusiastic with each moment of the interview,

until with his gleeful caperings he threatened to overturn the child.

Whereupon the child lifted his hand and struck the dog a blow upon the head.


This thing seemed to overpower and astonish the little dark-brown dog,

and wounded him to the heart. He sank down in despair at the child's feet.

When the blow was repeated, together with an admonition in childish

sentences, he turned over upon his back, and held his paws in a peculiar

manner. At the same time with his ears and his eyes he offered a small

prayer to the child.


He looked so comical on his back, and holding his paws peculiarly, that

the child was greatly amused and gave him little taps repeatedly, to keep

him so. But the little dark-brown dog took this chastisement in the most

serious way, and no doubt considered that he had committed some grave crime,

for he wriggled contritely and showed his repentance in every way that was

in his power. He pleaded with the child and petitioned him, and offered more

prayers.


At last the child grew weary of this amusement and turned toward home.

The dog was praying at the time. He lay on his back and turned his eyes upon the retreating form.


Presently he struggled to his feet and started after the child. The

latter wandered in a perfunctory way toward his home, stopping at times to

investigate various matters. During one of these pauses he discovered the

little dark-brown dog who was following him with the air of a footpad.


The child beat his pursuer with a small stick he had found. The dog lay

down and prayed until the child had finished, and resumed his journey. Then

he scrambled erect and took up the pursuit again.


On the way to his home the child turned many times and beat the dog,

proclaiming with childish gestures that he held him in contempt as an

unimportant dog, with no value save for a moment. For being this quality of

animal the dog apologized and eloquently expressed regret, but he continued

stealthily to follow the child. His manner grew so very guilty that he slunk

like an assassin.


When the child reached his door-step, the dog was industriously ambling a

few yards in the rear. He became so agitated with shame when he again

confronted the child that he forgot the dragging rope. He tripped upon it

and fell forward.


The child sat down on the step and the two had another interview. During

it the dog greatly exerted himself to please the child. He performed a few

gambols with such abandon that the child suddenly saw him to be a valuable

thing. He made a swift, avaricious charge and seized the rope.


He dragged his captive into a hall and up many long stairways in a dark

tenement. The dog made willing efforts, but he could not hobble very

skilfully up the stairs because he was very small and soft, and at last the

pace of the engrossed child grew so energetic that the dog became

panic-stricken. In his mind he was being dragged toward a grim unknown. His

eyes grew wild with the terror of it. He began to wiggle his head

frantically and to brace his legs.


The child redoubled his exertions. They had a battle on the stairs. The
~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8384283/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8384283/ Thu, 06 Apr 2006 13:00:16 PDT all summer
mocking mocking mocking
teasing and cocksure;
the cat crawled under rockers on porches
tail flashing
and said something angry to the mockingbird
which I didn't understand.

yesterday the cat walked calmly up the driveway
with the mockingbird alive in its mouth,
wings fanned, beautiful wings fanned and flopping,
feathers parted like a woman's legs,
and the bird was no longer mocking,
it was asking, it was praying
but the cat
striding down through centuries
would not listen.

I saw it crawl under a yellow car
with the bird
to bargain it to another place.

summer was over.

-Charles Bukowski

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: the echoes of your heartbeat
Reading: an Ohio roadmap that led me to you.
Watching: you throw me away. again.

He says I'm good for a romp,
but he'd rather hump a doorknob.

"I think we have a future together..."

"Well, what I mean is I like fucking you..."

"I mean I can't see myself doing this forever."

Me either.
Period.

Love is such a relative term. I'm now reserving it for children
who do not worry about the complexities of reality
who do not grasp that tomorrow is just hours away
who do not know that tomorrow yields abuse.

I knew abuse as a child--
and sometimes I still say,
"Please don't hurt me tonight.
School pictures are tomorrow."
And after the beautiful moments of
bows and dresses and socks with ruffles
were over and captured eternally on film,
I knew he'd slither into my room
like you
and little bodies would be swollen
until he came back.

It's had for me to justify in my head that you asked me to be your wife, and now you're pawning the ring.

I hope you get back what you put into it.

I'm a good girl
full of love
full of you
ready to burst...

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8351160/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8351160/ Mon, 03 Apr 2006 07:45:50 PDT
Mine has always been a silent world
So words have not been easy.
And words have been easy.
As easy as words.
As another lie; oh, I have lied.
And I have denied.
And then I denied that I denied.
I have invented myself so many times
so that others would believe I was who they thought
I was, and I suppose, so that I, too, would believe.
And also for no particular reason.
Oh, I have lied.
And that is the truth.

~Leroy V. Quintana

Mood: illfinedoingdandy
Listening to: Sufjan spell out the story of someone else's life
Reading: the lines in my hands
Watching: you throw me away. again.

The opposite of "love" cannot be "hate".
To hate is too strong of a feeling.
To love is strong so its opposite must be
Weak.
I think I anti-love you.
I think you anti-love me.
I'm okay with this, but
we have to agree to anti-love
each other.

The way I'm feeling right now...
it is not a nice feeling.
I'm being honest.
I'm being decent.
I'm being kind.
I sacrifice for you,
and you are cold.
You give me yesno's
and commands to silenttalk.
This is all so confusing.
You explain things to me
over and over and over and over,
but you never answer my questions.
You love me at an arm's length,
and that is not love.
That is anti-love.

LISTEN TO SUFJAN STEVENS GODDAMNIT. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8119508/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8119508/ Fri, 10 Mar 2006 08:22:46 PST
I'm starting to feel a little bit better about myself though I'm sure that is at least in part due to my prescription for Xanax, Navane, and Lexapro. My thoughts don't seem as cluttered anymore. I used to think I liked the clutter, but this is easier, and my thoughts are still there...they're just organized in little Tupperware containers that burp when you close them.

Do you ever wonder what the backs of other people's eyelids look like?

When I look at light with my eyes closed, mine are orange. They are mocha when I look at them in the dark.

I have this picture of you on my phone from the Chicago trip. We were eating lunch at that little restaurant with the delicious homemade pies...I think it was called Sunfield. I remember that that day you got down on your knees in the middle of this restaurant and asked me to marry you again. Our waitress hightailed it over to congratulate us and comment on how beautiful my ring was. You smiled. And smiled. And smiled. I'm smiling now just thinking about it. That was on December 28th at 2:11 p.m. You were wearing a banana yellow button up shirt, but it was unbuttoned. You were wearing a dingy white undershirt and jeans. You were wearing your self-proclaimed "Gucci-esque" shoes. Your shoes made me smile too. Better them than the Sha-Shas. (ick)

You don't take this as me being genuine, but I am. Maybe my self-perceptions are flawed, but this is me.

I'm looking at my road atlas--the one my dad gave me for Valentine's Day--and it looks like only about the size of my hand separates us. How is it that I am hours and hours and hours from your calloused hands? I'm looking at my hands now thinking about how mine are just a little longer than yours, and I could give you a million kisses.

I want us to be okay. I like it when we're okay. I like myself when we're okay.

I like myself right now. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8050972/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/8050972/ Thu, 02 Mar 2006 20:30:57 PST
It's fizzling out.

It seems like it's dying.

Here's what I'm not: perfect. hardened. manipulative. blue-eyed. short. skinny. whole. greedy. average. sane. wealthy. confident.

I don't know how to play the guitar well.
I don't know the names of all of your favourite bands--but I'm trying.
I don't look good in all shades of orange though it's my favourite colour.
I don't always know how to cope. That's okay, isn't it?
I don't want you to leave.

Here's what I am: kind. loving. forgiving. skittish. fickle. sensitive. hopeful. full of life. a good girl.

I do put your needs above my own.
I do give you the best of me, not the leftovers.
I do have post traumatic stress disorder.
I do still look cute in pigtails.
I do try to make you aware of my needs.

Thoughtfulness
Appreciation
Communication
Trust

Can we just work on these four?

I'm going on a vacation with you in 13 days. I consider you my lover.
Are you?

When we're apart and you're not sleeping in "our" bed, I constantly need you. I squeeze myself in a pathetic attempt to recreate your warmth.

Tell me. Are my eyes still dancing? Is this what you want? Do you have space for me? Can I please be involved in you?

So, maybe it's me that makes this relationship too intense.

Maybe it's you? ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/7970077/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/7970077/ Wed, 22 Feb 2006 09:34:57 PST
be optimistic.

I'm still breathing. Still.

Maybe not all boys are bad.

My car is fixed. I have insurance again. Money isn't -that- tight this paycheck. Bills are paid, and I'm renting a cabin with a lover over spring break...21 days--the countdown is on.

Once again, I'm gaining hope, if only for the day.

All my Love,
K. or C. whichever you prefer. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/7848307/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/7848307/ Thu, 09 Feb 2006 15:54:37 PST
Love has left after I met it in Illinois. Go figure.

No artistic endeavours as of late. Art is no longer real for me.

Hope you all are well.

Always,
Kristi. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/7136853/ http://sconosciutonoto.deviantart.com/journal/7136853/ Thu, 24 Nov 2005 22:15:29 PST
I've somehow crept away from the whole dA scene and half-assedly attempted the world of myspace. My subscription here has run out, so that's kind of lame, but myspace is a lousy substitute. If anybody wishes to find me on myspace (behold there are tons of photos), my display name is ".the.kristi.bean."

My lack of creative endeavours is quite pathetic as of late. I have moments of inspiration that dissipate quicker than they came to me in the first place.

On a positive note...very, very positive: I AM ENGAGED!!! I'm getting a beautiful ring for Christmas, and I'm so excited. If anyone wants to pester my future husband, he is "drivebylullaby" on dA. His latest journal entry here has links to his myspace accounts. Congratulate him, for he has to put up with me for the rest of our lives. I'm so excited, kids.

That is all. I'm doing better, and I'm in loooove. ]]> ~sconosciutonoto