rehash: Jun. 08, 2002 (4:56 pm)

more for me than for you. trying to make sense of it all.

falling in love with such images and rejecting dearly held beliefs

accoustic guitars are nearly invisable and i wish she still wore my clothes

hope for the new year by identifying an absurd pattern

short reflection on my short love life

reasons for loneliness, straightedgedness, and the act of writing

paul wants me to be happy, it upsets him that i'm not

censorship of my dissapointment that a creepy nineteen year old doesn't like me

i am not a conformist punk rocker

perhaps it wasn't good, perhaps it was my loathed apathy

catalyst kiss

i need someone to tell me that i'm ok and i used to have a best friend but maybe i changed

we three play hide and go seek for the amorphus truth

taming and nervous girlfriends

i love him 'cause i'm lonely, but fuck lables

i still love punk rock boys, and paul and i have nothing to talk about besides ourselves

do we not want to hurt each other or are we just a convenient fuck?

our love is an image and he's nothing like what i imagined

i have this need to be on top

hopeful again and the most beautiful man in the world

if girls like her are a waste of time, and relationships out of friendships are like suicide what's left?

paul gets nowhere on a date with that girl

i'm jealous because he likes her and not me

written instead of calling him and we don't know what permanent pain is like

that night in september was a mess, but at least there was a moment of peace

idea relationships are so much more attractive, we all pretend

i give him everything yet i'm still lonely

baking cookies like my nightmare

i crave equality

i wish he'd make up his fucking mind: does he love me because i'm special or does he desire something else?

still dreaming but should i be with him now?

real boys who play with hearts are slightly better than innane crushes

paul is dull and i feel bad about myself because i'm not brilliant

fantasies are just that (maybe) and i am a perfectionist

liz phair would never stoop this low

i feel seven and i have no grasp on reality: i know paul is a default but i refuse to do anything about it

i am a hard, hard parking space--but isn't it worth it? maybe?

that boy never wants to be in the grey

i wish i were fun, i wish i were a pleasure, i wish i were a good conversationalist

so un-existential i don't buy it anymore--but perhaps just me showing that it's not only in relationships that i'm (sigh) picky. but good things come to those who wait.

un-paranoid; he was sick that weekend but typically when i doubt him he really is attepting to avoid me

we've tamed each other (but i can't let go of artsy commune fantasies)

our kisses certainly have been bitter lately

i'm just searching for a boy made out of mirrors and i realize right now is my life

this is what i miss. having a "paul". someone who cared, someone who felt special, someone who i belonged with.

i kind of hate this poem now. everyone likes it. i wonder if paul still has my handwritten copy.

lying to myself so i can go out with paul (alex is impossible anyway, better to forget)

crappy poems, and lies--those feeling were not so fleeting.

getting ready for another date; scared of the realizations that may (did) happen

obsessed with pain so i can write because sometimes that feels like all i can do

everything felt trite because nothing was true

i wish i were this strong...to refuse love by default to ease my loneliness

he always does this, says everything is ok and then says he never want to speak to me again

annie wins a nonexistent, stupid contest

one of my favorite nights ever: curled over a table crying to laying on the floor of our empty school laughing.

i knew it was coming, i felt it too, why didn't i do anything? why did it bother me so much?

back when i belonged with her

i keep wanting the past to come to. to magically reappear. to take shape in my present. and i still haven't lost hope completely.

this is so awful--it reminds me of that one awful kind of like spitting song on one hundred dollar room. trite, but true 'b-side poetry'

statistically speaking something should've developed with one of them. but i suppose not since i didn't persue anything at all. it's not the best idea in the world to just wait and see.

it rhymes, and it's not half bad. how i feel stuck between blindly wallowing in the past and living in the present. neither makes me content.

one acts were tough; i missed paul or something like him, i was cruel to nathan and i sought power. still do.

'smiles speak more truth than words'

now that he's gone everything feels so ordinary. everyday is exactly the same. every hour is exactly the same. the passion is gone.

he is like paul who i let walk all over me

the truth used to be easier

i remember that day so well. where he was sitting. where i was sitting. he was so fucking nice and i wish i weren't so timid.

spring is my worst season. it's always been. the new heat sparks every fragment of anger in my small body which turns so destructive

beyond apathy, unbearable days

still dreaming of equality, realizing it's my fault too

no, he doesn't make me smile. and only pain is just as bad as only joy.

or maybe it was just because i was twelve

i believe he really wanted to hold my hand. really wanted to destroy the boundary.

yes, yes it all bothered me! they all move past me so fucking quickly

still believe this is odd. we place our trust in the oddest things.

missing the passion

i put breaks on desires, red tape everywhere

and nothing will every be explained and half the time there is no truth. no one truth that will make everything add up. we will never know what happened to things that we have lost.

there are so many things that i forgot

that was another one of the best weekends ever. out of school, out of hierarchy, together in abnormally warm winter boston.

not just pain, not just joy. both. how bright.

not just pain, not just joy, not just both. infinite components, math too hard for us to understand.

still searching for something that continually seems nice

in my mind we have never really just been friends. either hate or love. either no contact or sex. there's just never been a middle

continuing to understand things aren't entirely magical and the boy that still talks to me

i miss profound conversations (even if one-sided)

merely new friends is not enough

remember moments, moments are what feels wonderful i just don't know how to tie them together

he agreed just to agree (my fantasy sounded fun)

he appologized and i can't understand why

he once called me a wonderful person and a genius writer. what i don't understand how you can just leave that behind you.

still feels true

not taking responsibility for failures. searching for any pattern.

no one talks about anything important and that fortune cookie was the most wonderful one ever

the first three sentences shock me because they were true and i wrote them

beginning to take more responsibility but it's hard when you are sad

i still feel like i'm on a turtle and they are on swingsets when we're together

living in my head even though he 'still likes me'

same old things

yeah, it was nothing. but the guilt drove us apart. and the feeling of superiority.

i think i need more than a single ideal

it's hard to even know your own truth

i think he was wrong, people who like liz phair probably have their shit the least together. (but i suppose i'd rather be like this than so simple)

this city during the school year makes me so sad

only two more years of this

nothing ever lives up to it's expectations

forgetting everything; apathetic again

i still see everything from that night so clearly. so wondeful. i forgot the stupidity of the acts. only the wonder of the people.

false creation might differentiate me

always living either yesterday or tomorrow

one resolution i kept

not always hate, not always love

quite a downfall if you ask me

can't believe i felt that way

fake reality and live in my head

i sound a bit like thoreau and dream about a boy like him

hate everything except accidents

i could never hide the truth from him yet it's so hard for me to express how guilty i feel around him and i doubt he knows

perhaps that is the worse part. that i was falling to pieces, hating everyone and no body even noticed except when it's fucking physical harm because we must keep people from their grave even if we do nothing to make their life feel better

and i can't stand how he does this to me. takes so much out of me i can't write anything.

that dream was so comfortable but when i woke up my stomach turned. and those boys were beautiful.

can't lay next to people, the either pin me down or i stare straight up petrified because i can't show interest. i can't show interest in him. he wouldn't care anyway and it would just be one more person i feel awkward around.

may be maladroit but felt like the add, gently pressing

but i think actions aren't as obvious as i previosly regarded them as being

hours were wasted, but on the other hand where else would i have been?

must have enjoyed this self-depricating entry; can't make friends like this out there

he appologized. again. pre-school dogma, didn't understand what it meant at all. just knew he should say it. i got the sugar cookie 'cause he hates chocolate.

sigh, the park of guided imagery. right now a car blanket and someone would be nice. 'someone who can read and take care of me.'

i suppose looking back prooves that i have a past (that was entirely played out in my head.)

horrible progression that i may still be stuck on.

if they turned into each other, shouldn't i be afraid of alex to? imagine a period where he paled in comparison to paul. trickery perhaps.

both avoid honesty (to get out more quickly). that was a nice ride. high volume weezer. singing along to a spoken part.

it passes, i know that now, this feeling does pass

my love always causes horrible effects

i know they don't care, and the worst part is yesterday paul looked at me with the same eyes they do

can't escape my past; i know there is no god and i hate my family. just leave me alone.

did he care that day? or did he just think i'd want him to hold my fucking hand?

i live off these nights of sadness. sober now.

thoreau would've never given walden up to fight for isreal

too afraid that i was back into apathy so i wrote about my dream. i woke up in the middle of it and refused to go back to sleep because i thought i would have to watch myself get raped.

no, no that will never be his walden (it is my tainted walden)

paths away from myself feel like such escapism. weak way out.

ironically, people seemed nicer to me when they are miserable

i hate my mother for not allowing me to do anything. and i hate myself for listening. it's bad advice.

it hurt so bad that he never followed up on that. like i only cross his mind when i'm right infront of his face.

that book was amazing, but i heard baudrilliard watches sixteen tvs simultaniously. talk about wasted insight.

i didn't want to go to his house after that. it's not that we disagreed about politics, it's that he was such an abrasive asshole about it. 'no, no, i respect you're opinion on everything but this. but you're wrong.' i cried. i backed down. i hate how he's an atheist yet he still wants to defend that country. takes away all hope.

i keep feeling myself under his grey shirt, keep feeling his face against my black sweater. last thing i saw was his dad's polite smile before i bolted down the street. and i never run.

i grimace when i pass that bar. what a fucking awful expirience. and a moron who argues untruths with belief. what if i had no idea?

he seemed so sympathetic. so sympathetic. light years beyond alex.

if i seemed happy that day, we wouldn't have spoken at all.

i know it's a bad mentality that i'm in, that he's not completely responsible for it...but i keep going back because i think that he means it when he mutters an apology

do poets always cry? and will he always touch for an instant? i don't think i would freeze up

i wonder: do most people explain why they leave? or do they just hope the other person won't notice?

for a bit i thought she wasn't true. i believed him when he said we were on good terms. she is what he was unable to say to me.

agree then add. agree then change. all are wonderful ways to discuss. things are never completely polar opposites

but do i really not have problems? just because i look fine on paper doesn't mean a thing.

no one cares for me more than they care for anyone else. it sounds so egocentric. but it's painful.

multiple components. well: x, y, z

waiting for that brief postcard from new mexico. i guess i wanted more. a reason. an explanation. not an apology in sixty days.

yeah, yeah, of corse good terms. except, i think we should never talk again. it's not me it's you. xoxo

his hair recently did change length (and yes it was for another girl). x that image of the list.

it's moments that please me. i don't understand they're fucking persistance. moments. yeah we had them and they may come again, and right now i can't do more.

drags me to apathy again. i miss that fortune-cookie boy. he was more kind. he was more honest.

thinking summer as the same effect as even years

what i need is myself. a slightly firmer grasp.

i backed down for compromise. and it's made me fucking miserable because he hasn't done the same.

even his eyes (his full face smile) are less blank that paul's were

i wish he could do both more. i wish anyone could do both more.

finding myself weak now

leave no trail but he has seemed happier to see me lately.

it's happened before. a million times before. i come out of it. into a stage of passion. i will be back soon.

because i don't belong to anyone, because all my desires feel gone, because all i wanted to do was sleep

i forgot he was real. that he lived in this city. that i could possibly see him. but all in all i had a nice night.

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