8.24.2008
Hell With Little Wings On
If I was to become some sort of pixie or sprite, I think I would be a tickle fairy. Except, I'd tickle people at terribly inappropriate times - like at a funeral or when they had to pee really bad.
8.22.2008
The Components of Hell
"Self improvement is masteurbation. Now, self destruction..." - Tyler Durden, Fight Club
It's the rain and this afternoon's procurement of Gerard Way's "The Umbrella Academy" that's put me in this lovely mood. And they say I wouldn't love Seattle. I feel like knitting some black, webby garment and watching something haunting. I wish I had Donnie Darko. (I did once, but I threw it away after a particularly painful inful break-up. Stupid. Well, I figured I wasn't going to live too long, so what was the use of hanging onto material possessions?) I feel like painting in blacks and greys so heavy with water, they just drip down the canvas like tears. I feel like creating something subtly disturbing.
After a few martinis, I don't really feel like spending a thousand bucks on a personal trainer was the right move. Eventually, I hope, I'll be rail-thin like I used to be. I miss those days. Funny how you don't realize things until it's too late. Too bad the heroin diet isn't an option. I don't want to fuck up my life that badly (again).
It's not that I feel so dramatic as to throw myself off of something high. I just fell a comfortable ease and a longing for shadows. It's familiar and welcome. I'm thinking of slipping into something comfortable with webbed stockings, painting my nails black...hiding myself for a while in my personal tomb..giving birth to something awful and mysterious.
The eve of the DNC and static electricity in the air. Watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, I felt sure that something dreadful was going to happen. It was the same feeling driving home tonight, but much closer to home. As if something with inky black tentacles was lurking in the drain, thinking how nice it would be to eat something young and tender. Not me of course, for I'm neither young nor tender anymore. I'd marry it and help it feed. (smile)
It's the rain and this afternoon's procurement of Gerard Way's "The Umbrella Academy" that's put me in this lovely mood. And they say I wouldn't love Seattle. I feel like knitting some black, webby garment and watching something haunting. I wish I had Donnie Darko. (I did once, but I threw it away after a particularly painful inful break-up. Stupid. Well, I figured I wasn't going to live too long, so what was the use of hanging onto material possessions?) I feel like painting in blacks and greys so heavy with water, they just drip down the canvas like tears. I feel like creating something subtly disturbing.
After a few martinis, I don't really feel like spending a thousand bucks on a personal trainer was the right move. Eventually, I hope, I'll be rail-thin like I used to be. I miss those days. Funny how you don't realize things until it's too late. Too bad the heroin diet isn't an option. I don't want to fuck up my life that badly (again).
It's not that I feel so dramatic as to throw myself off of something high. I just fell a comfortable ease and a longing for shadows. It's familiar and welcome. I'm thinking of slipping into something comfortable with webbed stockings, painting my nails black...hiding myself for a while in my personal tomb..giving birth to something awful and mysterious.
The eve of the DNC and static electricity in the air. Watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, I felt sure that something dreadful was going to happen. It was the same feeling driving home tonight, but much closer to home. As if something with inky black tentacles was lurking in the drain, thinking how nice it would be to eat something young and tender. Not me of course, for I'm neither young nor tender anymore. I'd marry it and help it feed. (smile)
8.04.2008
hopeful in Hell
I just keep hoping that someday, somewhere, like on the train or in a bookstore, that someone will see me and fall completely in love. And then, we'll go off together and live a crazy rock star life together.
Another Day, Another Hell
The city smells like refuse again this morning. My stomach feels like I swallowed a lead balloon; bloated, nauseated, heavy. The wafting scent of dumpster isn't helping me much in the battle against vomiting. But, I've got to find coffee somewhere. That's the first step to feeling moderately bearable. Despite the fact that I woke up moments before I stepped off the train, I still have the presence of mind to try for someplace, anyplace but Starbucks. I imagine myself a hero for the small business owner and for groggy people around the country, "fighting for your choice in morning coffee". I discover my new breaktime hangout. They're independent, they're friendly, and their list of veggie sandwiches is as long as my arm. My only regret is holding this scone instead of a nice bagel. I'm not much for sweets, but I'm hoping the food will calm my churning innards. That is, if I can bring myself to eat it.
I get to the office and realize that I've forgotten my key. I can see the red-haired admin inside the reception area, so I knock on the window. She's oblivious. My office, off to the side, usually has one woman in it who never unlocks the door or turns on the lights. So, I knock on that window, thinking that if she's in there and she doesn't answer, I'm going to give her a piece of my mind. She irritates me anyhow. Eventually, I am rescued from my lost-puppy look in the hallway and someone opens the door. There's nobody here in the office. When I check the calendar, it looks like I'm going to be the only one in my department today.
Soon, I think that Mexican woman is going to come. She sells tamales and burritos door-to-door in the building. The same woman used to do the same thing in my last building, the one I was in before I changed jobs. There are only tamales on Friday though. They cost half as much as the burritos, but she knows I'll buy. I always buy, if she's got something vegetarian. But, since she knows I'll always buy, she always brings something vegetarian. She even extends me credit, because I rarely carry cash.
Cash...that's right. I need to get some so I can pay my bills...I need to call my storage and tell them not to auction off my furniture. I have a lot of crap to do today. My stomach doesn't think apricot scones are a good idea.
I get to the office and realize that I've forgotten my key. I can see the red-haired admin inside the reception area, so I knock on the window. She's oblivious. My office, off to the side, usually has one woman in it who never unlocks the door or turns on the lights. So, I knock on that window, thinking that if she's in there and she doesn't answer, I'm going to give her a piece of my mind. She irritates me anyhow. Eventually, I am rescued from my lost-puppy look in the hallway and someone opens the door. There's nobody here in the office. When I check the calendar, it looks like I'm going to be the only one in my department today.
Soon, I think that Mexican woman is going to come. She sells tamales and burritos door-to-door in the building. The same woman used to do the same thing in my last building, the one I was in before I changed jobs. There are only tamales on Friday though. They cost half as much as the burritos, but she knows I'll buy. I always buy, if she's got something vegetarian. But, since she knows I'll always buy, she always brings something vegetarian. She even extends me credit, because I rarely carry cash.
Cash...that's right. I need to get some so I can pay my bills...I need to call my storage and tell them not to auction off my furniture. I have a lot of crap to do today. My stomach doesn't think apricot scones are a good idea.
8.01.2008
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