She won't.

Obviously, Nixmary is not the only kid to be killed by their mother or stepfather. She happens to have been exceptionally pretty and the murder especially cruel, that is the reason for so much media attention. But I'm like everyone else, I felt both horrified and fascinated when I saw that girl's face on the cover of the Post and the Daily News. So of course I've been following the little segments as they appear in the paper.

The main thing I've noticed so far is the mother's lack of remorse. I can barely write about this without becoming extremely upset. I've talked to several people already and am still unable to detatch for some reason. Actually I've written other blogs about this and still what I really want to do is scream at that dead girl's mother. I have plenty to say about the "justice" system in general of course, but I don't want to focus on that either, because real justice is divine. In this case, Nixzmary's mother has only felt sorry for herself. She complains about the other prison inmates being mean to her, not having visitation rights, having also been abused by the boyfriend/stepfather, having been busy with other children during the time of the murder, and she wanted to plead a lesser charge than Cesar (the boyfriend). I'm not sure if that went through or not though.

NOW ON TOP OF ALL THIS, she is asking that she be allowed a second chance to testify because at the pretrial hearing she was "depressed and suicidal" AND THAT BITCH IS BEING MEDICATED FOR DEPRESSION WHAT THE FUCK? She should be fucking suicidal She should be depressed! Why does she get to numb her feelings with medication???? What is the point of the whole justice system if the inmates are allowed to numb their "bad" feelings and are not forced to suffer TO THE FULLEST INTERNAL EXTENT for their "crimes" i.e sins?? What is the point? If someone is not forced to feel the real, entire scope of their guilt and absolute responsibility, and do not truly repent, they are not changed and are no longer living but walking dead souls, in which case all punative action is null and void. Put her on suicide watch, yes, make sure she lives to feel it, that she was THE MOTHER and that girl was HERS to take care of, not fucking Cesar's, nobody else, HER, she let the girl die, the blood is on HER hands. Depression is not like the flu, not that kind of sickness! Why do they make feelings into a medically treatable condition?? I wish the term "depression" was never invented, so that people could identify and use other terms such as grief and guilt and shame and rage and disappointment.

The Rock and Roll Garage Sale

I am way too tired to write an extensive review of my thoughts and feelings about the show last night, so I'm just going to post a few pictures with brief descriptions. I won't even summarize the event, let's just say it was somewhat multi-media. The couple pictured above are: Bill, my homeboy and the bassist in my band, and Christina, his high school sweetheart, who happens to be married to a Japanese man in Japan. The pictures below are of the artwork in the venue. I should have the names if I'm posting people's work, but it's not like anyone will see this. I like these ethereal, girly ones.



And I liked the stove, of all the photographs.

Here is Michelle, cupping her hand to Tia's ear because it was so fucking loud. Why do they always do that? It wasn't appropriate here, I was worried about losing my voice beforehand from screaming in conversation, and it's a good thing people can't smoke in bars anymore. I was thinking about that, the old days, for singers. But Luckily, people said our levels were good and not painful at all. The sound person did a horrible job for everyone but my band apparently! Actually the one after us sounded good too, maybe he just didn't know what to do with the rockabillies.

Here are the three of us. Yes I am the scary blue eyed one. I was both scary and scared when this picture was taken (by me) as about to go on stage to sing. I had many worries, mainly that I would make Mischa feel mortified and repulsed by myself. Thank fucking God she was so sweet to me and even supportive the night before when I couldn't sleep and she is always good at talking through anxiety. Anyway she said I seemed "humble" rather than "boring performer" and said all kinds of nice things so now my worst fears are over and who cares what anybody else thinks.

passengers

Then I got to work and I was okay for awhile then I started thinking about updating my resume but I don't know how to say what I do here and my boss said he will help me but I don't want to do it! The only thing I ever wanted to do was read, write, and sing and I can't do things I don't want to do because I hate them and it's fake and I refuse. So anyway Mischa start buying lotto tickets! Also I wished I could make money from music but obviously that's not going to happen. Maybe if I was at *this* point but was 17 years old or something, not already starting to want to retire and die and I can't even play the guitar or anything, I'm not reliably productive, all I want to do is live and see what happens but I really want a house too, but I can't think about any of it today anymore period.

Nadja

"....He has familiarized me with that tremulous ennui which almost any spectacle induced in him; no one before Huysmans could, if not exemplify this great victory of the involuntary over the ravaged domain of conscious possibilities, at least convince me in human terms of its absolute inevitability and the uselessness of trying to find loopholes for myself. How grateful I am to him for letting me know, without caring about the effect such revelations produced, everything that affects him, that occupies him in the hours of greatest anxiety, everything external to his anxiety, for not pathetically "singing" his distress like too many poets, but for enumerating patiently, in the darkness, some quite involuntary reasons he still found for being, and for being--to whose advantage he never really knew--a writer!"

(I am reading Nadja on my break between part 1 and part 2 of War and Peace. I thought it looked like a "fun read," but it turns out to be one of the most difficult books I've ever tried to comprehend. Perhaps it's hard because it's a "surrealist romance," or maybe the French to English translation is responsible. All I know is I have to read almost every paragraph as many as five times over, which I never usually have to do, even sentences, and look up words, and references - Huysmans, for example).

Living underground so much of the time

When I first moved to New York City, I did not like riding on the subway at all. Well, honestly I didn't really like the city at all. It did not feel exciting and invigorating to me, but absolutely overwhelming, bleak, depressing, and disorienting. Of course this was one month after 9/11, and I came knowing almost nothing and no one, but so do many people who move here. I had visited my older sister in the Bronx, so I was familiar with the Fordham area, and had been to a few gay bars in the city, and the most common neighborhoods once or twice (Greenwich village, Times Square, etc), also stayed with a friend in Brooklyn a couple times, so Park Slope not a totally new place either. I had one friend, who I broke up with very quickly and my older sister moved to Chicago, then I was really alone. Anyway, I was in a perpetual panic attack for the first year, alternating with crying fits. I was scared on the trains because I didn't know uptown from downtown or how to get anywhere, and felt like I stood out and everyone knew how green I was. For job interviews (I sent out resumes within three days of arrival, actually that's all I did for a while besides work a temporary catering job), I had to bust out my subway map and concentrate very hard on the gridlike nature of the city layout, which obviously doesn't work downtown. I realized right away that my clothes were all wrong, but I didn't have any money. I ate a lot of fried rice, nutella, pizza, or nothing at all, and I drank Olde English or Colt 45 to knock myself out at night. What I really wanted was a job at a record label and a place to sing. Eventually I did achieve these things (although the label fired me after two years), but at the time they seemed almost impossible, but I just had to try. I was calling every record label in the yellow pages, literally, and asking questions that people hang up on, and getting people who only spoke spanish, and fake interviews, and dead ends. I went to Universal and tried to give my resume to a security guard. All kinds of stupid shit. All wearing the wrong clothes. I felt very ashamed but I only once considered going home to my parents in Minnesota where I knew I would kill myself from boredom and a sense of defeat. Plus I couldn't afford the u-haul to get there after a week or two (I came with five hundred dollars). Anyway, the point is the subway. One night after working my job as an operator for a medical answering service, which was the 2nd shift (4:30 to 11:30pm), I dreamed that I was in a subway car that pulled into a station full of corpses, and I knew it was all the people who had died in the city during the night. They were laid out on the platform and hanging from the ceiling. I was horrified and closed my eyes, but the car stalled and just sat there.

THE GREATEST

Well hello, good morning and happy Monday. I just came back from the bathroom where I discovered my underwear are on inside-out. That's because I was taking the old sinky ones off and putting the clean but stained ones on as Misch was coming and going in the room, and I felt embarrassed. hehe. I didn't want her to get a look at my cellulitis thighs out of context. Isn't the above picture adorable? All the pictures of her are totally die-for cute, especially if they show the teeth.

The above picture is Misch having bad posture on the uncomfortable futon couch when she first arrived for the marathon-love weekend. I wish the first thing I said wasn't "you smell like an ashtray" but hopefully all the other things on the tip of my tongue, such as "sit down and hold still I'm going to smother you with pent-up angel-lust," and "I hope you don't mind if I lick your face" etc etc were evident in my desperate attempts to act normal especially with my roomate around to see the changes come over me (I begin to talk, make eye contact, laugh, etc).

Fortunately my roomate was a little distracted because she finally found someone!!! And he was coming over too. He is a very handsome, tall, young (24 to her 36 years old) black gentleman who wears nailpolish, eyeliner, and skirts, so in other words all her greatest dreams and fantasies come true, which is exactly how I feel. So our apartment went from being the doomsday smokers den to an actual happy place this weekend! There was music in every room, light, the kitties were happy, Tatiana was especially loving and not hiding under the bed or cutting or hissing at people, we cooked several times, just happy happy happy! Here's a picture of Mischa sitting down to the breakfast spread we put together. She made the chocolate chip banana pancakes (okay I supervised the flipping) and fruit salad and I made the chicken sausage omlets and guacamole.

The greatest contrast from our usual weekend mornings where my roomate and I don't speak or she bitches about everything that has offended her since I saw her last, we smoke weed and lay around feeling depressed or checking myspace and trying to get the energy to do laundry or at least get some food because we feel sick. Actually that way of life ended for me already, since Mischa saved me, but having the roomate happy too just brought the energy in the bachelorette, shotgun apartment to a whole new level. Here's Mischa sitting on the couch with Roxi and Tatiana. I think she's looking at notes for her little parenting class, I'm not sure.

Now I cannot stop fantasizing about the domestic bliss with Mischa, how we will both be good at cooking by then and only shop at Whole Foods and people will come over and also we have been doing yoga oh my god what if every weekend the gays came over for brunch after yoga?? Well we both have straight friends too but like I said to her you need a community because when you grow old you will not have your family in the same way other people do, even if they accept the gay factor or pretend to; you have to make a family with your friends.

See?? I got the vampire tooth in that one! That is my favorite. Probably Mischa and I will elope very quietly, but I do have fantasies about doing a Manson style wedding in a European castle just simply to see Misch dress up in tall boots and wearing some strict, black sort of ensemble (like the ones I pointed out in Vogue, Misch) and coming down a winding stair case and then bearing the vampire tooth for the cameras. I guess we don't have to get unioned to see this fantasy materialized, but if we did, it wouldn't even have to be in Europe - it could be on Halloween somewhere upstate, with winding, veiny tree branches and black cats and a full moon.

All have sin and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23)

Oh yes Misch, I certainly read about the doh! decap - ahaha. Among so many ways to be executed by the state, hanging is a tried and true, but not without surprises, apparently. And like your typical politician, our president acts as if he's appalled. And in the newspaper certain writers also feign indignity, but it's fake. What if it was my body dropped to the fucking ground? Thump! I hate the idea personally. But objectively speaking, what is the difference what happens to your body once the spirit has been forcibly severed? Death, the great mystery. I also read that the executed men exhibited fear, unlike haughty Saddam. Would I exhibit fear? It's hard to say.

One question with regard to justice is always how severely a criminal (or sinner) deserves to be punished. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" was actually devised as a way to make sure punishments were NOT too extreme, contrary to common understanding of that expression. But I wonder, if a man deserves to hang, why not decapitation also? If one deserves the death penalty, why not the most violent and painful one possible? Why do people care about how much a person suffers in that context? I often wonder this for convicts executed here in America also. If someone tortured, raped, and killed a family, or cops, prostitutes or teenages, children, whomever, don't they actually deserve to receive the same treatment? Why do they get the relaxing lethal injection? "Regular" people don't even usually get to die so peacefully.

Then the even greater question is whether anyone is completely innocent or guilty. Well that's not the question, because the answer is no. But most people think of themselves as fairly innocent, deserving good, nice things, and never deserving pain or brutality (in the worst case scenario). But consider this: obviously Saddam and company deserve death for killing Iraqi people (Kurds) with deadly gas aka "crimes against humanity". Then clearly the US government and all governments also deserve to suffer and die because they start and conduct wars that kill people, and also implement policies that hurt and indirectly kill people. And then the entire American people deserve it, simply for consistent, willfull blindness and selfishness and indifference with regard to treatment of the earth and entire contents of animal, plant, and human beings, plus financial advancement and benefit at the expense of everything and anyone, and for having depraved values (money and power). Then when I consider the "innocent people" killed in the twin towers, I think they were actually punished quite justly for crimes as accused by militant Muslims, who are right in their own way. Of course the "terrorists" and extreme religious "fanatics" aren't innocent either. So like the biblical quote in the title states, we all, including myself, deserve to die. On a rope? In a tower? On the street? While being robbed? .... no tears, no sympathy.

Sin lives in the heart and mind, and is manifest daily in actions and decisions made and not made. And the ten commandments actually do encompass every shade and gradation of sin, beginning with number one, God should come first in your life. If you consider God as including everyone and everything other than self, as the most detatched but inclusive form of LOVE, then this is the greatest definition of goodness and it is easy to see where each "regular" person falls short and deserves to be punished. Yes, the truth hurts. We all deserve to hang, and drop. Thump!

Christianity teaches that Jesus is/was God, born as a human being in order to die for our guilt, thereby absolving us of it. And he was executed by the state, of course, his death being the most famous historical example of the death penalty. Then by rising from the dead, he is said to have wiped the slate clean for each individual, and if we accept this truth we will be saved from the death sentence we deserve.

I'm not sure what to do with this information anymore. Sometimes I feel God uses me to punish other people, in very subtle ways, because I am relatively pure. Then I wish I was a real, technical virgin because I would have even more power of vengeance. Well, also because the sins I'm most interested in punishing in others are sexual sins. Then I think I should be like Jesus and accept punishment for others, and I allow myself to be abused. These are mostly fantasies.

I have to leave off on this subject for now. I have invoices to process, and other office tasks to complete. Here's a picture of Mischa, to cheer me up. My angel also has a divine sense of justice, even with no religious background, and that is one reason why I trust and respect her.

Number 1 Psycho Nurse, Mischita Karamasha: please tie me to my chair

Tonight the temperature drops to freezing. I haven't been outside of the office all day, but keep hearing reports about how cold it is getting. I have stayed inside, busy organizing files to perfection including all contained papers being folded into precise squares. Also, busy in my own mind, thinking of Nurse Karamasha making her rounds in the hospital.

I wish I was one of her patiens so that she would tie me to my chair and use the rubber gloves.

Oh and I think she will use them and do it eventually, in the room! But the mansion is years away. For now I have to content myself with pictures and stories in my mind, and tolerate the jealousy I feel that anyone else is even allowed to look at her or come into contact with her.

Jealousy: even of the drooling, wild, pee-their-pants geriatrics, or violent, turn-on-you, biting children. It isn't fair, that they should see her wearing (I'm guessing but uncertain, judging from the picture) the jeans that I got for her, and I cannot wrap my man-hands around the tiny thighs and scratch the fabric.

Anyway, enough about my obsession. (It's not really enough though, the desire is quite insatiable, which is a good ... no, a great thing, because where insatibility lurks, there lurks inspiration, my water).

Last night I dreamed that I was at Saddam Hussein's execution. First I was next to the hangman, and I was thinking about how he seemed pretty nice, and about all the people they said volunteered to do the job, and how he won. He was a very large, shirtless, white man, typical. Then I was in the small crowd facing the scaffold. There were three men on the platform, like Jesus' execution, although I learned today that my imagination was correct, and Saddam was not executed alone either. A line of guards stretched stage right, and I heard them chanting mumbai-something, just like I read in the paper, that they chanted the opposition group's name while he was hanged. I felt curious about the business at hand, but not appalled or happy or any other strong emotion. I was just surprised that anybody could watch, and I thought about how they used to televise electrocutions.

I'm not sure what my dream meant, well obviously a sense of peace with and observation of some judgement recently made. Although it has nothing to do with the dream, I will use this opportunity to note that the execution of Saddam Hussein was absolutely wrong and hypocritical, as are all implementations of any sort of death penalty by state. It made me sick. It's not that I felt sorry for him, I don't give two fucks about his happiness or any pain experienced. He deserved to suffer. But it would only have been justice if an innocent party had punished him, and there is no innocent government, certainly not ours, not the Iraqi government either, no one in a position of power or with something to gain from it.

MLK Day, a time to reflect

Ah yes, here is a photo of the man in action. It is something really special when a good man or woman speaks up and the people love them. Of course the people loved MLK! I get a similar feeling when I see people reading Barack Obama's book. His very face gives me the thrill and chill that great leaders do. So I think he will run, be elected, and totally get assasinated. They kill anyone good. Also, as I pointed out to Misch last weekend, isn't it crazy to think about 1.) people actually using drinking fountains, and 2.) using them so much that they had to agree to separate by race?? Of course they didn't really agree. But imagine now, "excuse me where's the Black water fountain?" Or, "get the hell away from our water fountain, use your own!" Everyone has bottled water now. (Take a moment to reflect on the constantly deepening landfills full of un-recycled bottles).

Also today people should be thinking about whether things are better or worse for the "Negro" people now that fourty years or so have passed. Actually, scratch that don't waste your time, I'll answer it for you. It's a combination. Some things better (you probably won't get hung by your balls for fucking a white girl if you're a man plus companies advertise to Blacks and they have a couple TV shows or whatever), some things the same (still probably end up in jail or dead if you're a man), and some things worse (crack, cancer, AIDS).

When a real tragedy occurs, such as MLK being killed, shouldn't the world just STOP?? When the worst happens, the totally unjust act, shouldn't God intervene? If it was a movie, something would have to make it turn into a happy ending. So when the tragedy happens, ye of little faith become atheists (because God SHOULD intervene).

We all have to admit that the worst has already happened. The innocent people have already been tortured and cut up in pieces and forgotten and won't be in the newspaper and it doesn't matter if they are in the newspaper because it's impossible to care about everyone, so no one really cares. The virgins are violently ruined; Nixzmary is dead; MLK is dead; Ghandi is dead; Bush the Evil Fuckwit from Hell was elected twice (and if not technically elected, too close for comfort, this is America, Americans did it); Nelson Mandela was put in jail and now he's dead. Of course Mandela was able to do a lot of good in his life too, it's not that good cannot be accomplished or does not exist. MLK also achieved great things out of love for the people. But basically it comes down to this: good never has and will never trump evil.













Soooo .... from the moment of this realization it's a smooth, easy slide into nihilism!! But unfortunately I was raised to believe in Jesus, and although I no longer believe his crucifixion and/or resurrection truly atone for all the wrong in the world I do see the strength of his self-sacrifice as a symbol, therefore I will never and can never stop trying to know God even so far as each religion contains one part of the whole truth, so Jesus is part of the answer that I must find to these questions: how do I, or how should I fill the time alotted to me? Is there any point in trying to be good and do good when the game is already over? Do things in the present matter at all compared with the past? For most people, the past doesn't matter, it doesn't even exist, but it seems the opposite to me: the present is just a charade (cave of shadows?) or residue (I've used that word before to describe this idea).

To reiterate, there are aleady so many past wrongs that cannot be set right, and tragedy occurring right now that will never and can never be made up for in the future. But I cannot do the slide into nihilism, because it's wrong and because I have felt love, and I still feel it. Probably I do not feel it as strongly for the things or people others seem to love, but I cry and my heart beats for silenced dead people including Nixzmary and bums and hookers, also babies that play and laugh, and my majestic feline pet who looks at me with an intense, jealous or adoring gaze, and finally my beautiful, magical, tricky, pretty and handsome, fun and funny, scary and soothing, wiry, scrappy and strong, hot and cold, and oh so sweet future wife who also happens to share initials with Martin Luther King, my angel MLK:

HOPEFULLY M.LEILA.K WILL NOT MAKE ME DELETE THIS ADORABLE PICTURE EITHER ..... xxx ..... and here's a picture of her brand new tattoo, twinship:

Fixated on your id

Yesterday I proposed to Mischa that from now on I act as her superego. I suggested this for several reasons. One reason is it really looks fun to me. And I think I'd be good at it. I enjoy berating myself quite a bit and I know exactly what her naughty little id needs to hear. Also, I think her superego needs a break every now and then. Who better to take over than me? Plus I just want to get as close as possible to her id, the most exciting one I have ever encountered, and what better way to get in there besides the pain and punishment? This will only be a temporary and intermittent exercise. And it can only happen in the special superego room. The room, we decided, will just have a treadmill, where I can scream at Mischa to walk faster and longer and call her fat when she gets tired and remind her of the junk food she ate especially cookies (bad). Also I'll have a notebook where I read off all the mistakes she made throughout the day or week, and mock her and ridicule her for them. I suppose I need to let her try being my superego every once in awhile, but I am afraid. I think she might be too good at it. Plus she would probably try to burn me or cut me or something, yikes. You can see in those eyes that she could be cruel, can't you?
But after spending time in the superego room, perhaps we will refresh in the yoga room, and chant ourselves out of all three parts of consciousness, and after that go swimming and pretend it's the womb and be reborn. Infinite possibilities, and infinite pink hearts for Mischa, the most beautiful mind ever trapped behind glowing, frantic black pupils and a trembling brow.

Eyes are not a window to the soul but I can see yours anyway

Not good at any job

Ew I feel so fucking gross today. My head hurts and I'm still on my fucking period. There I already swore twice. And I already got in trouble for swearing at work today at the front desk. Apparently somebody reported me, ugh. Plus I made four mistakes on the invoices I processed. When people bring mistakes to me that I made it's like I can't even believe I made them. It seems unreal. It's still unacceptable. Even though Misch told me that I fuck up because I'm not inspired to do my best, still I berate myself and wish it never happened. But I have to take the pills when I'm bleeding. Otherwise I will die. Plus the company seems to be definitely going out of business. Every business I work for here seems to fold and start laying off people a year or so into the job. These fucking places! What am I supposed to do? What am I going to do with my life?? I'm not good at anything real. I hate every job I can think of. I hate them so much I really can't even do them. I was a bad waitress. I'm a bad office worker. I don't want any real responsibility. I don't want real projects or real pressure. I just want to be left alone. I don't like meeting people or creating things for a business. I want to do a little perfectable task, but I can't even do them perfectly anymore or ever could. Then people get mad at me and I can't handle that. I can't have anyone dissatisfied with me, it drives me crazy and makes me cry. Plus I hate interviewing more than anything in the world. Plus I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE wearing dress up clothes. I don't have any! I can't walk in heels, not even short heels. I don't have a pants suit, much less more than one. I don't have a nice bag. I don't have a printer to print my resumes. I hate working on my resume. Everything on it, pointless stupid God I can't even describe how much I loathe fake fucking resumes. Then I have to meet with someone and ELABORATE ON IT???? It has nothing to do with me! Jobs have nothing to do with me. I just need one. Now this one is about to be over, and I didn't even do that great here. I don't even know how to describe what I did (do) here. I have to put it into bulletins on a resume and talk about it, in the pants suit and heels???? I want to fucking die, my head hurts. I just took a pill, pretty soon I'll be fucking more shit up. Why can't I have a job where I just read a book? I'm not qualified for anything else. I refuse to sell things. It makes me want to puke, just thinking about selling things. I'm willing to organize things for people and answer the phone, but I swear and my haircut is unprofessional. Once a headhunter told me to try to look more feminine, and I still had long hair then. Fuck! Goddamit what am I going to do. Why does this scare me so much, it doesn't seem to freak other people out. I can't be myself on an interview or in a job. I hate being fake, it feels so obvious and wrong. I also feel like I can't learn new things, but they always want people who already know how to do it anyway. What do I already know how to do? Nothing that is a job. I want to die today. It's a good thing Mischa doesn't care if I have money or am successful because I think I never will be. But I want to travel too! I want a house someday, or to buy a baby! But maybe I'll just be a fucking bum or jump in front of the train but I wouldn't do that because it's messy and wrong.

Guadalupe who burns with passion for me and all the lights everywhere reflecting this

O Mary, whose Immaculate Heart was pierced by seven swords of grief, help me to walk valiantly amid the sharp thorns strewn across my pathway. Obtain for me the strength to be a true imitator of you. This I ask you, my dear Mother. Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory be ... With my heart full of the most sincere veneration, I prostrate myself before you, O Mother, to ask you to obtain for me the grace to fulfill the duties of my state in life with faithfulness and constancy. Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory be... (3rd day and 8th day).

Obviously a less religious image here, our very own Grand Central terminal ceiling. Not the best photo ever taken but simply posting to demonstrate the power of lightness and fire that obviously exist in a spiritual sense in every individual, some just like a little firefly, which is a good start and way better than a total blackout, from which actually you can recover, but it depends on your karma and also your fate. If those terms confuse you and you wish to contest, please see first my proof of fate which I believe I proved a couple months ago in a short entry by that exact title.

The Vampire Angel in the bleachers and feeling anxious

The above picture was taken (as noted in title) while sitting in the bleachers of the football field at Misch's middle school, just down the block from her house. It was taken on Saturday, January 6th, the winter day that felt like fall or spring, with temperatures in the high sixties. What a strange, fantastic day! And oh, the perfect "teenager" to spend it with.


What should I order?? Oh my god I'm so hungry that I can't decide! Which has the fewest calories?? Which is the cheapest? What will be good and not gross? It's so important and what if I can't decide at all? I'm freaking out, fuck! And now she's taking pictures of me, gross, I hate her!

With my bird of love and in her nest

It's me in the New Balance! Well Mischa has, among her twenty five thousand pairs of well loved sneakers, a few pairs of NB too, but unfortunately her feet are one half size smaller so there will be no sharing of the shoes. Lately I have been overcome with urges to shop for her even though I usually hate shopping, but it's fun when you are imagining outfits on such a slammin' body. What can I say about her beauty except that I believe God created and molded her long skinny legs, angelic shoulders, arms, flat little tummy (yes flat, Mischa), and 34Cs especially for me?



Here's where Misch and I make out even though her parents are in the next room and once her mom brought us christmas cookies but thank god we were sitting upright like normal adult friends although actually normal adult friends don't hang out and "talk" on the bed in the first place. They sit in the kitchen and talk about their stupid kids or jobs or recipes or other boring things. OR worst of all, their husbands. "Oh my John won't be romantic with me at all and he's busy watching football, so I told him off, I was like, and he was like, then I was like, then little Suzy came home and wanted a snack so I was like and she was like and then John was like....."

I really hate the word "like." It makes people sound so ignorant and annoying and makes me hate them. Even though Misch says hating people is just a way for me or anyone to feel safe, I would feel safer if people would never say "like" ever again in my presence.

PS. Last night my friend told me a sad story. This asshole boyfriend of hers called her at 4:30 am from a bar and wanted to come over. He was so drunk he didn't hang up the phone when he got into the cab, and said to the driver, "I'm gonna get some pussy, yeah gotta get some pussy! Pussy!" He really said pussy three times. Instead of calling the police (which I would have done) she let him come over and just lay stiffly on the bed for the rest of the night, not letting him touch her. And in the morning, she passive aggresively avoided his persistent advances. And now she says she doesn't like him, and "won't pursue him, but I'll let him pursue me." What the fuck!? What a fucking asshole loser, he doesn't deserve her time! She's beautiful, smart, talented etc., and all he sees is an object with which to fulfill his animal urges. What a shame, oh well. Women never seem to know how to feel their own worth.

Cards

" ... He had the unlucky capacity many men, especially Russians, have of seeing and believing in the possiblity of goodness and truth, but of seeing the evil and falsehood of life too clearly to be able to take any serious part in life. Every sphere of activity was, in his eyes, linked with evil and deception. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he engaged in, he always found himself repulsed by this knavery and falsehood, which blocked every path of action. Yet he had to live and to find occupation. It was too awful to be under the burden of these insoluble problems, and so he abandoned himself to the first distraction that offered itself, in order to forget them. He frequented every kind of society, drank much, purchased pictures, built houses, and above all -- read."



" ... Sometimes he remembered having heard how soldiers under fire in the trenches, and having nothing to do, try hard to ind some occupation the more easily to bear the danger. And it seemed to Pierre that all men were like those soldiers, seeking refuge from life: some in ambition, some in cards, some in framing laws, some in women, some in playthings, some in horses, some in politics, some in sport, some in wine, and some in government service. 'Nothing is without consequence, and nothing is important: it's all the same in the end. The thing to do is to save myself from it all as best I can,' thought Pierre. 'Not to see it, that terrible it.' (War and peace)"

Killer

Yes!

...."Prince Andrei seemed, and really was, an utterly different, new man. What had become of his ennui, his contempt for life, his disillusionment? Pierre was the only person to whom he could bring himself to speak frankly, and to him he revealed all that was in his heart, now gaily and boldly making plans reaching far into the future, saying he could not sacrifice his own happiness to the caprices of his father, declaring that he would either force his father to agree to the marriage, and like her, or dispense with his consent altogether; then marveling at the feeling which had taken possession of him, as something strange and apart, independent of himself." (War and Peace)



Good News! My little Misch is not a conceited, pretentious hipster, and does not judge me for being musically ignorant whenever she knows something that I don't! Also, I think she said she will not hate me after the show on the 1st of February. Last night I started getting excited about the show because we had practice after a longish break and instead of everything sounding like shit and being in a bad mood and disagreeable or just plain sick of it or like me, self hating and not up to my own standards, it went pretty well. And all four bands requested have confirmed for the night without a problem, it's all set. And we wrote a new song at the end (actually we have over ten songs not yet developed, it's frustrating) that sounds like a club hit with some Indian chords or melodies and I sing about Mischa's damp heat and go mmmm mmmm mmm which does, I admit, sound a little like Gwen but of course way better, heh. Because like the song MK put on my mix, ain't nobody that can sing like me :) Some people in my family lately teased me because they said I sing differently now than when I was younger but really I worked hard on breathing and just opening all vowels in general and letting a natural vibrato come instead of a fake sounding one or fake phrasing or any imitation of any singer much less one like oh, say, Beyonce or something horrible like that. I sang in the cover band a couple years ago to gain confidence and also practice singing any style, I purposefully agreed to sing almost any song the boys wanted, just to see if I could cover it decently. Now DM is a whole other thing, and really seems divine to me because the spacey, dance, lounge-ish sounds allow me to stretch and minimize words which appeals to my love for condensed meaning. Now the only question is whether to wear the burka for the show. I want to. It's my one flashy idea. It's either this show or another one, I'm going to wear a burka for at least one song. I'd like to wear it for the sorry song in which I sing "cut my tongue off" and other submissive phrases to my "master" so totally fitting for the burka. But I wonder how much they cost, and if it's hard to breathe through the cloth.