silver lining

kids in sweatshirts waiting in line because there's nothing better to do.
boys holding girls like a treasure.
thin wisps of hair are blowing in the breeze.
cigarettes are burning in careless hands,
the lines are moving slowly
and money flows through hands like water.
another day passing without merit
breaking like waves.

conversations with the wind

and i was walking.
she came to me, took my hands
into her brassy cold hands
her hair was flowing into the trees
(that reached for me
with their own hands)
and i was not afraid.

and i was singing.
the ethereal dancers clouded my mind,
my mind whispering all the while
which has become an open book
(which may be flipped through
just as easily as a book)
the velvet cutian draws to a close.

and i was watching.
when her unhindered beauty stole my breath
and i, like a child, blinded by her beauty became
because it was unlike any other beauty i had seen
(and i have seen many beauties,
i promise you that)
i lingered on her grace.

and i was lying.
the grass grew blade by blade to hide me
green shoots of grass legthened by the moment
to swallow my existence into itself
(grass is capable of
concealing many things)
and i wished it all wasn't so meaningless.

i'm doing better than i though but for what reason? my mother just loves me so much that she has to publicly insult me every time we go anywhere together.

sleep the clock around

this week is becoming silent sunday and i've come to realize all the things that are going on. life has opened it's self to me and i've got it. i'm gonna shout. like it's nobody's business. i got an a on my andy paper. he would have loved it.

listening to your piano heart making sounds that only i can hear... i try to sing it back but i forget the words. you'll forgive me though, won't you? it's like dancing in the forest, the green swallows me up and i become a faerie. my proverbial wings of wisdom delicately shimmer on my shoulders. i have to be careful not to break them off while i play my flute, or you might not want me any more because i'm not everything you've never had, only what you didn't want.

i wanna be a lion. everybody wants to pass as cats. we all wanna be big big stars, but we got different reasons for that. believe in me, cause i don't believe in anything and i wanna be someone who believes.

i'm living in a world where status is all that matters. life is a popularity contest and i can't stop falling in love. things are making me feel invalid to the system.
i like to be a person, not just a number or a reserve.
this time i'm trying to expose my face to the sun while the world spins below my feet. who can say that this day isn't for the dreamers or the sinners? everything is left unclaimed and still it cannot be given... what are the things that make us human?
there are so many questions without answers and things that people consider paradoxes. the trees sway in the breeze. time is relevant to the things people say they represent. andy warhol was world famous for fifteen minutes.

i'm excited that my friend is moving back home. living alone is wrecking her life, i don't want her to die of some no name overdose on a dru that kills our fathers in a place where she's not safe.

i found a new set of tee shirts in valu-bins around local thrift stores.

it was a spiritual revelation [as usual when you are rolling into the fourth day of a seven day drug binge.] i felt a little holy, being ambienized and stoned for too long. so i decided to bring you a present.

i rescued you in a shiny white car with a fistful of flowers, a bag full of dope, and a bottle full of vodka. you looked like a vintage snow white, face radiating with violet content. i wanted nothing more than to touch your pretty red lips. so you got in and let the adventure begin.

after a while of struggling, we found ourselves adorable and accompanied. naked girls dancing like angels around them, it just occured to me that i was naked and let my boss touch my very luxurious vagina. without thinking twice. he touched hers, too. no one ever seemed to notice.

he wouldn't kiss me.

eventually, we banished them from the moon. they were an uneventful pair, disregarding the nudity. we tried to masturbate, but were [mostly] left frustrated, with no happy vaginas to be found.

last night we slept three deep in your bed, each in love with the summer sky tattooed on the backs of our eyelids and inbetween our thighs.

i woke up this morning essentially unhappy. it is saturday, the end of this week. each day has been more magnificent than the rest.but for some reason i know today the ship will be crashing down and leaving me broken again.

and i still wonder, am i any better for living today?

after a few weeks, it's almost nice to be back in this place, but i'm mot so sure i want to stay.... what do i do? panic.. scream.. i saw cole at sarah's house. that kid is such a dick. i really don't like him and i just can't figure it out, you know? who knows..
i keep buying these little gfts and don't know what i'm thinking. i really want to buy sarah that buttterfly pin, i think it's beautiful and that she should have it. i would be such a good girlfriend, you know? why aren't i?

john's going back to europe and i think he's more sure of that than he is of me.
when he stayed over, he could pretend. but when it was time to talk about it, that was a whole different story. what should i say?
i'm begining to immerse myself in the languages of the world... maybe they can save me from the cruel ways of the english.

today seems strange and lonely. my sister wakes me up every morning and i get so upset because there isn't anyone here to keep me company. i found out that i'm not making as much money as i thought. moving out sounds like it might be tough with less than ten thousand a year. goodbye little luxuries.
i realized today how much i hate the radio. they only play the songs that are "a dream come true" for the part of america that's braindead.

got a job today. things are looking up. i saw sweethearts today, with jeneane gorafalo. i was shocked, they made her character so shallow. she was bi-polar manic depressed. totally a terribly written part for her.
I keep having these dreams about dying and babies. not necissarily dying babies, but it has occured. each dream is like a sad fairy tale in faded technicolor. maybe francesca lia block will write a fairy story about my life...

this is my first attempt at making it. i'm moving out for the first time... find myself in love with the idea of things.
being alone isn't so scary anymore. am i supposed to dream and then write it down for you? will you cling to my ideas the same way i cling to the promises made years ago by people who i can't even be certian exist? i guess that's a chance worth taking.