Friday, June 24, 2005


In approximately four days, I will be on a plane headed for Italy. Well, actually, a plane headed for France, then a short 2 hour flight to Italy. And while I'm incredibly exited at the thought of 6 weeks in Italy; studying something I love, shopping & partying with one of my best friends, I'm confused. I feel like I'm putting my entire world on hold for the summer. And it's not simply the fact that I'll be stepping out of a comfort zone, it's the fact that I don't know how I'll do some place else. I'm leaving it all up to chance and flying to the other side of the country. When I come back I'm not really sure where I'll be living & I'll only have about 5 days to find out. I still have no idea what my school schedule will be like come August 29th. I don't really know how I'll do off drugs, either. I've gone a few days, never 6 weeks. Maybe this will be a collossal mistake. I worry about Matt, constantly, although I act nonchalant to everyone around me. Things are good, like they used to be. But 6 weeks is a long time.
Every night I stay out late, till 2,3, sometimes 4am. But I can only ever sleep till 7, 8:00 at the latest. I keep waking up with all these thought on my mind. I wish I could get a partial labotamy to forget certain people and certain memories, it would be so much easier.
blahblahblah i have no idea what im saying.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

trust-fund baby

trust-fund baby

"sidewalk chalk"

Your hair was an uneven mess when you got out of bed. Something about your assymetrical carelessness drew me in even more; those mornings must have made you positive how I was a fool for you. I knew that you knew, but I didn't mind. I gulped down the eight minutes and ten seconds of conversation we shared that morning, agreeing to walk outside for some lunch. We sweated through our black clothes as we walked down the avenue, avoiding skateboarders and important conversation equally. I look at the unfinished sleeves on your arms from time to time, trying to figure out what each tattoo really meant to you, although they were probably all on a whim. I treasure those little parts of you; your caulic or the way you rub your thumbs when you get nervous. We sit at the cafe like so many times before, and you order me cosmopolitan after cosmopolitan. I drink them carefully inbetween conversation, trying not to spill all over myself. I look at you when you aren't noticing, trying to shove a moment into a memory I can conjure up later, like a voicemail or a polaroid. We've had this lunch a dozen times before. The day I am about to end the visit, to fly back to the city of grit and languages, and you stay here in your bed with his irresistability. This lunch occurs the mid-morning after the night spent in your bed, visit after visit. I always thought after every visit, maybe I'd get a step closer to being a girlfriend, even one of distance. Perhaps become something singular and distinct in your life, whose qualities didn't overlap with anybody elses. Although it never happened, you were always just the boy who seduced me on my annual visits to boston, who didn't send postcards in between. As we leave the napkins on the table so improperly, and you hold my back as we exit that cafe -- I imagine that this time will be it. This time you will aggresively gesture me into a phonebooth and kiss me the way you do when I am under your covers naked. That now you will grab my jawbone like a boy who cares and say to me "I love you with all my guts". With an unsteady tilt in my stride, we arrive at our corner. There are so many things I want to tell you here, this is just my life now, but soon it will be ours. Soon there will be discussions of a future beyond your apartment and this avenue. You hailed me a cab, and as it pulled up you kissed my cheekbones. I sit inside of it, my knees slightly shaking, turn around and watch you dissapear behind me.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

happy birthday

What does it mean when a holiday suddenly becomes a chore?
When did the days of care-free birthdays and joyful times dissapear?
Is this something that happens with age? Suddenly a birthday feels more like a chore, less like a celebration.
You realize this great person you conseptualized in your mind is an illusion. He's nowhere near perfect.
He's not the strongest man in the world, shielding you from harm, always there to protect you from danger.
He's a liar and a cheater. He'll break your heart, take a piece of your innnocence you can never get back.
Kind of like a first tooth, only more painful. Plyers made of 2am drunken phone calls ripping at your heart.
I stared blankly at your card, struggling to find something meaningful, significant, to express how I felt.

'Happy Birthday' I wrote printed. Signed with love. I felt like a sham.
We were both liars, unable to ever say what we really felt. Too afraid to find something better.
I didn't love you and you didn't love me. Maybe we had in an earlier more child-like time.
I suspected I would never reallyknow for sure. So for the moment, we celebrated.
Like nothing ever happened.
We were the perfect couple.


I would start by telling you my name, but maybe that's too personal. I started this blog in hopes of recording some of my thoughts/ramblings/ what have you. I had a journal but that was constantly found and read. I had a livejournal, but that created too much drama and did the opposite of what I intended in the first place. This blog is going to probably be annonymous, which I think is best. Okay. See ya soon?