i'll let you know when i get there

i don't know if i've arrived or departed from something. the sound from the heels of my boots are proof of a move. i think the tragedy of Julius Caesar is not that friends might deceive us, (et tu?) or that people are not always what they seem to be- but that just as often we do not even know ourselves so well. he thought he was constant as a northern star, but julius wavered with the rest of them. all stars dancing or dying we waver edges not so defined.

MMM "When a life is over, the one you were living for, where do you go? I'll work nights. I'll dance in the city. I'll wear red for a burning. I'll look at the Charles very carefully, wearing its long legs of neon. And the cars will go by. The cars will go by. And there'll be no scream from the lady in the red dress dancing on her own Ellis Island, who turns in circles, dancing alone as the cars go by." L "How do you divorce ennui When you have no motivation to fight? Get nostalgic Make lists about anything Anything Take classes in the name of a career you could give a shit less about by the time you get the degree. Art. Disappear into projects that demand and consume. Stop asking questions. Treat everything like a giant fucking joke. Fall in love But do not ask questions. "Run mad as often as you choose, But do not faint." Where am I going. Where am I going. I have a lot of friends. I have so many friend...

Via text from the mother Another death in the family... Maybelline stopped selling my lipstick shade. The nerve!

Via text 11:10 me. Save new? Me? 11:11 she. Save new? Huh? What? 11:18 me. Anime. Savemwcome Dyyyying 11:23 me. Dead. I am dead. (anime kids will be the death of me. Mark it.)

I just kind of want to lie around and stare at the ceiling for about three days. Then (maybe) I will rise again. What if Jesus was just really tired? Kind of bored, maybe. Maybe he just spent those three days kind of staring at the ceiling of the cave. Maybe on the third day he just decided he didn't want to be bothered with humanity and went into hiding for the rest of his life. State of the Union: Lackadaisical. Also: It is only Tuesday.

Do you wake up every day with a question on your mind?

"but you don't believe in meant to be, linds." "well, i don't believe in god, but I say his name sometimes."

Sometimes when I am posing for a picture, I consciously think to myself right before the flash goes off, "This is the happiest moment of my life." As though that can make my face believe it. As though the Sears Family Portrait Studio could actually be the setting of the happiest moment of my life. Sometimes I pretend I am in a movie during a particularly poignant moment, when you either feel bad for the girl or care for her deeply- you are falling in love with her at that very moment- just to make moments seem a little more interesting and my face to look a little less tired of it all. Or tired in a beautiful way. As though watching an airplane move slowly across the night sky could be the fucking door to an epiphany. Or something. sometimes usually, everything actually begins to take on some important glow when i cast myself into a role for long enough. and not like after-school-special glow... like, real. like, Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams and Matt D...

You can't rush this art. It is a four letter word like time to come home is wasted on waiting and better spent on gluing pieces together like heart strings to a pendulum until everything is just a means to creation and feels about the same as anything.

To Brautigan: I wish you were still alive (you are dead, aren't you?) so I could kiss your brain and suck on your words. Next weekend: a piece of my art will be hanging on a public wall. Also: visiting the dentist gives me phantom loose teeth. Furthermore: http://aware.diaryland.com/ as well as: Hyperbole and a Half

From the "At Work" Collection of L- Summary of the Lynrd Skynrd Concert July 18, 2001 Overall, an alright, all-american (well, Southern) rock & roll band. Fat men singing and waving confederate flags around. Drunk 20-50-somethings throwing their fists in the air slow motion, spilling beer on millions & millions of cigarette butts on brown grass. Lighters go up for a song only the first 20 rows know the words to. I lay on my back and listen to people appreciating something I can't understand. My best friend is crying because her boy has wronged her again. It's become so habitual that we can't do much but watch. We all take turns whispering words that don't help & kissing her forehead-hoping somehow we can transfer some sort of brave. We'll pray she gets hit with a reason to leave but tonight we can't do much but watch people walk around our island of a grass covered blanket. Where a few mintues ago there were thighs & mull...