Friday, April 22

Toby and I, making love. Soft breath and damp hair and my nose pressed against his throat to feel his voice. His hands on my hips. Me, drowning, separated from reality, my growling stomach, my aching head, the burn of tired muscle.

He pulls away, looks at me with sober eyes. "How much have you lost?" he asks. The sudden loss of his touch pulls me back long enough to say, I'm not. I'm not losing.

His hands again, skimming the instrument of my ribs under fat and pale skin, touching the point of hipbones beginning to reemerge, touching my lips. "I'd guess about five pounds," he says.

I stare back at him, silent.

After a moment he breaks my gaze and leaves the bedroom.

I can't stop shaking and I tell myself it's from the sex, but there are no excuses this morning, twelve hours later, when I miss the doorknob by a mile.

Friday, January 28

masochists and narcissists

Also posted here. How annoying.

No writer escapes the craft without becoming (or maybe he was to begin with?) both masochistic and narcissistic. I'm not talking about staring at himself in the mirror all the time or asking his lover to whip him (though I'm sure plenty of writers are those types as well). It's a bit more subtle than that.

You find it in all kinds of fanfics. Author's notes. Lengthy introductions a la Orson Scott Card. References to "the first author" in textbooks. The beginning of an internet publication with "I know I haven't written in awhile, but..." (see previous post if you don't know what I'm talking about).

See, authors are always a bit crazy. We know we're irrelevant and we know that no one cares how long it's been since we wrote or what kind of great excuse we have. All they care about (if they do) is what we've produced. If it's good, they will read; if it's not, try again.

The writer is both the ultimate extrovert and introvert, all in one package. To the writer, every piece of work is achingly revealing of him; to the reader, every piece of work is either irrelevant or achingly revealing...of the reader. People do not gaze upon a piece of art and say, "I think the artist was trying to tell me that he feels ____." Viewers look and say, "I feel ____. That is what the artist was trying to say"--even if that is the opposite of the truth.

Face it. People don't care enough about others to read in order to learn about other people. We read to learn about ourselves. We both read and write to look in a mirror, to see our own ghastly features reflected back at us. When we write we are forced to understand, and that's the scariest thing about it all. Once you've seen what you really look like, you can't turn back. Even if it hurts.

Monday, January 17


Dear (I forgot your name again):

I only think about you when I dream about you and I only dream about you when I'm crazy, so I don't know what that says about You-And-Me, except that we're obviously not going anywhere good.

I mostly crash and burn when I try to have this conversation with anyone else. I hope you're following.

I read the most amazing things last night, had the most amazing nostalgia about the look on someone's face when they kiss you for the first time and how falling in love is more about a smile than sex. The eyes widening, mouth open in a soft "o."

Do your hands feel numb when you think about me?

There's a dead yellow rose on my desk that helps me remember that nothing lasts forever. Eventually we all wilt and decompose and there's not really any part of us that really survives, at least not in a way you can touch. You can't touch a feeling. You can't touch nostalgia. Memories are not stable matter.

Am I making any sense here?

If not, I guess I know why you weren't The One. If you know what I'm saying, then I have no idea.

Signed, sincerely,

Friday, January 14

early morning friday cat blogging

I like to call this one "super freaky":

Turtle kiss

Relaxing in front of the fire

Thursday, January 13

"i'm like a...."

It’s the moment right after the moment his hand met your face. Not a shocked palm-slap in movies or the backhand of a betrayed husband, but the sharp mountains of knuckles. Starting with that moment where he raised his hand in the first place, threatening you, you didn’t believe this was happening. Later on you’ll miss the bliss of not knowing, of thinking this must be a dream while he screams.

Right now, right in this moment, the nerves in your cheek are sending blips to the pain receptors in your brain and it’s getting real pretty damn fast. For the rest of your life, you will be defined by the moment. You will, from this moment on, be the kid who gets hit by people he trusts. You are this moment, through and through, and nothing will ever erase it or conceal it or make you ok with it.

You didn’t say anything. Everything was quiet, just like always, just like normal. He was angry, just like normal. But your heart was pounding, your breath fast and sharp. He’d never hit you in your face before. He never made it that personal. Today is the day. He tells you, you better get out of this house before that bruise heals. Or he’ll kill you. He says it like he’s been thinking it awhile.

And maybe you leave, maybe it only takes three days for you to get the hell out of there and never look back, but home is where the heart is and every night you dream his face and every day you are still in that moment. You still are the moment.

Wednesday, January 12

worst conversationalist ever

That's me, by the way.

(I'm also a terrible writer/blogger, obviously, but I keep repeating January is a bad month and it keeps me sane while I'm going insane.)

Thursday, January 6

better late than swap

Too late to actually join, but the idea is the same. In no particular order:

"Enemy" - Eve 6
Can't get this shit off my mind/I just wanna be all right/So just tell me nothing's wrong/Then get undressed and spend the night

"Where is My Mind" - The Pixies

"Should've Been a Cowboy" - Toby Keith
Haven't you been told?/California's full of whiskey, women, and gold/Should've been a cowboy/should've learned to rope and ride/wearing my six-shooter/riding my pony on a cattle drive/stealing the young girls' hearts

"I Touch Myself" - Eve 6
We definitely don't condone or promote masturbation in any way; we definitely don't do it ourselves. I personally find it disgusting. It grosses me out. I just don't get it. Maybe if I got it, that would be one thing, but I don't understand it. I understand the bottom line though, I always remember the bottom line. I want you. I don't want anybody else, it's just the way I am. And when I think about you I tend to...

"Lie to Me" - Jonny Lang
Tell me that you'll never leave/I'll just try to make believe that everything you're telling me is true/Come on, baby, won't you just lie to me

"The Calendar Hung Itself" - Bright Eyes
Does he lay awake listening to your breath/worried you smoke too many cigarettes/is he coughing now on a bathroom floor/I settled for a telephone saying into your machine/You are my sunshine, my only sunshine/You make me happy/when skies are gray/you make me happy/when skies are gray and gray and gray

"Dust on the Bottle" - David Lee Murphy
After all these years there's one thing I've found/some say good love is like a fine wine/it keeps getting better as the days go by

"Anyone, Anyone" - Dashboard Confessional
I must be out of touch/I won't ask you to give up on the things that seem to keep you gone/but I could be gone too/feel a little sorry/sometimes you're not here when I am writing/feels a little awkward/sometimes you won't talk but we're not fighting

"Red Light" - Jonny Lang
You think of home while sitting at a redlight/Too slow to roll, put your life on hold/you start to wonder why you're sitting at a redlight/You could run a redlight/Give up at a redlight/Speeding through your whole life/A chance to breathe while sitting at a redlight

"Holy Water" - Big & Rich
Everything would shine wherever she would go/but looking at her now you'd never tell/someone ran away with her innocence/a memory she can't get out of her head/I can only imagine what she's feeling when she's praying/kneeling at the edge of her bed/and she says, "take me away"

"Defying Gravity" - Wicked
Dreams the way we'd planned them/if we work in tandem/there's no fight we cannot win/just you and I, defying gravity/they'll never bring us down

"When I'm Gone" - 3 Doors Down
There's another world inside of me that you may never see/somewhere in this darkness there's a light I can't find/maybe it's too far away/or maybe I'm just blind/so hold me when I'm here/love me when I'm wrong/hold me when I'm scared/and love me when I'm gone/I'll never let you down/even if I could/I'd give up everything/if only for your good

"Sincerely, Me" - Better than Ezra
And I miss you/and the things you do/the time we had, the good and bad/the day we met that I can't forget/Signed, sincerely, me

"Open Fire (Ana's Song)" - Silverchair
You're my obsession/I love you to the bones/and ana wrecks your life/like an anorexia life

Toby maintains that the only songs on his would be Lit's "My Own Worst Enemy" and The Angry Worms' "Canada is Really Big." I keep telling him that a satirical song about Canada can't be about him. He says, "Metaphor, duh." (Favorite lyric: When you get down to it, you'll find out what the truth is/it isn't what you do with it, it's the size that counts.)

Wednesday, January 5

i knew i wasn't the only one who noticed a whole ton of bipolar kids on the internet

Rum & Monkey's fuckin awesome LJ entry generator

Today was really tiring.

I feel sad, because Sarah and Britney are complete bitches. They told everyone I have an STD, just because I slept with both of their boyfriends on Saturday night.

I'm so hardcore. Me and Buzz went to the mall today, and I stole a whole heap of stuff. I got a Good Charlotte CD, a couple of DVDs and some new boots. Buzz got caught, but he fought his way out, and then we stole some lady's car and smashed it into a phone booth.

Last night I had to shave my entire body. Apparently, the lice that I caught from Amanda's friend are really hard to get rid of. I look quite strange with no hair and eyebrows. I'd post pictures, but my webcam is broken.

I want to tell the world that I'm gay.

I am making this journal friends only because I don't want the world to read what I'm writing, even though I'm posting it on the internet.

Today, I got a digital camera! Yes! Here's ten thousand photographs of my cat.

I went to the doctor yesterday, and he said I have bipolar disorder, which makes me different enough to be interesting, but the same as all the other cool people with bipolar disorder.

You should all do this quiz! It's amazingly accurate. You just put in your name and birthday, and it will tell you you're a moron.

That's enough for now. But I'll leave you with this poem I wrote. It's about my friend Robert, who has bipolar disorder. Just like me. And Heidi.


I was once diagnosed bipolar, several years ago. I was also diagnosed with diassociative identity disorder (multiple personalities). That would make sense, though, wouldn't it? I have one manic personality and one depressive personality. Because I've actually had non-drug induced mania. (Noticed confused look.)

I also think the "friends only" thing is bullshit. I mean, come on--if you wanted to speak to a few friends about your life, send an email or a letter. (On another note, I am so grateful that I only got one of those Holiday letters. You know the ones. "Dear Family & Friends: This year has been so eventful..." You know it's written by the mother of the house, but she still refers to herself in third person and reintroduces you to her entire family by their key characteristics. Yeah, Jenny, I remember that you're a young, beautiful teacher; I remember that your husband, Brandon, is also young and beautiful and is my cousin; I remember that you had a baby a couple years ago, and no matter how cute little Jason is, I don't care to hear stories about his teething adventures.) "Friends only" also takes away my ability to spy on you. If I say I haven't read your stupid Xanga or LiveJournal or Blogspot (all with lame templates and uber-cool graphics stolen from somewhere else), I might not have. Or I might just be saying that so you'll be more likely to write something about me. If I knew how to hack people's email accounts, I would do it. If I could record their phone conversations, I would do it and listen to them (that poses another problem, but while we're dreaming). I'm nosey and think I deserve to know everything about everyone's life, just because I'm me. I'm getting off topic. Don't put your blogs, journals, diaries, whatever, on friends only. It makes me cranky.

I once shaved my entire body in an effort to deny lanugo. It was a good tactic until people started wondering why the hell I would shave my entire body. I'm not a swimmer. Obviously I was hiding something. Like hair caused by not eating.

making amends, part I

I had a dream where I got a strange email from Michael, one that was not even addressed completely to me. A group rejection. It listed several (ex) boyfriends (in the dream I didn't take much time to feel betrayed; been there, done that), and told us all that he would no longer be speaking to us with the implication he was returning to the lovely ex-gay ministry.

This is not so much a dream as a prediction of the future, but stay with me here.

In the dream I was someone else and told him everything that needed to be said, words and hands flying that I can't remember now that I've woken, but when it was happening it was all true and deep and maybe I would make him see. (That's why this is called a dream and not something that could actually happen.)

I told him, as someone else, that he could just say goodbye to any chance he'd had of winding up happy and in love and blissfully naked in bed with Toby and I, which may or may not have ever been a possibility. I told him as someone else that he could just say goodbye to me as me, that if he didn't think he'd lost it all before he's surely lost it now.

I woke up with aching teeth and clenched fists and Toby looking over from his desk smiling and blowing me kisses Mean Girls style. Dreams fade real fast, I say, and then I fill in the holes myself with wouldacouldashoulda.

Saturday, January 1

the way to start off the new year

We decided to go camping. We took our farm kart out to a secluded piece of land. Set up our humongous tent, built a fire, had some grape soda, and waited for something thrilling to happen. Nothing did, so we cooked some hamburgers. The good thing was, I didn't eat any. He smoked a few cigarettes (I was good and abstained), talked, and decided it was about time for bed at 11 p.m. We sat in the tent with our crappy broken lantern and kissed and talked about farrier school, babies, and how this whole experience would be better (for me at least) if it was about 20 degrees warmer.

At 2:55 a.m. I wake up to him stumbling out of the tent and go looking for him after 20 minutes, he's leaning against the truck appearing to be throwing up his intestines and other vital internal organs. He says he's fine and we go back to bed, but when he's up again five minutes later it's about time to pack up the trusty farm kart and go home. It's less than ten minutes back to the house, but we have to stop a few times for him to be sick. He looks like he's about to die. Lovely.

We don't get to bed until around 6, I'm curled up in the corner of the bathroom with him, handing him a glass of water and a pillow for in between. He smiles a little and says he didn't think Normals got as sick as I do. I said he was delusional if he thought himself a Normal.

It also rained all morning.

Yeah, 2005 is going to be good.

Friday, December 31

anger management needed

This cat has some issues.

Thursday, December 30

i don't think we're in kansas anymore

Today was windy with a high of 70 degrees. Yes, it's December 30th in Kansas; the average temperature being 28 degrees.

Because I watch too many movies like The Day After Tomorrow and Deep Impact, I think this has something to do with the tsunami. That's the only thing I can say on the subject. Every morning he gives me updates on the death toll and I pretend I don't see.

Either way, it was a beautiful day to fix the fence that blew over during the night and fall off my horse. I hurt my knee and she pulled a shoe. Maybe it wasn't such a beautiful day after all.

Keith: two of his songs got on my coveted Life Swap list (don't ask what a deaf kid is doing with a soundtrack for his life). Download "Lie to Me" and "Redlight."

Wednesday, December 29

this is about self-deactivation

It'll get trite really fast, so bear with me.

Four Diet Dr Pepper's and one three-mile run later, I'm feeling a little woozy. I'm reading poetry about bad friends and good tragedies. Cursive teaches us that artists have to starve, if things aren't bad a masterpiece won't come out of it. Palahniuk's Diary teaches the same thing, I think, with a little bit of handwriting-analysis mixed in.

Reading a book that starts with someone trying to commit suicide (but only ends up in a coma) and then has his wife bitching at him for 200 pages, well, that just doesn't do much for my current state of mind. Like Beau Sia, I wonder if they'll publish books full of poems I hated when I die. What I wrote when I didn't know better (like what I'm writing now). Maybe someday I will write something like Marya's Wasted only better, but for now I'm completely useless except for...this. Sitting. Reading. Picking scabs.

I'm sorry I'm so "emo." It was nice for that short period when being depressed was a fad, so at least I didn't have to pretend. Now I cover it up with fake smiles and lots of lies. January is a bad month for me. I thought my world was over telling me that my feelings were irrelevant. Everything comes back to invalidating me, because that's the worst thing in the world.

Wait. People all over the world are dying for what they believe in, and I'm just dying to believe something. I'm starting to sound like a Jonny Lang song.

For something more cheery, Wednesday horse blogging.


Two red lines below the crease of my elbow, the width of my arm and perfectly spaced. Trotting poles. One, two, three, jump. This is so teen-angst, so a couple years ago, you remember when it was cool and hardcore to cut. I didn't expect it to be sixty-one degrees today, a beautiful day for t-shirts and everyone creeps out of the cracks to ask what happened. It's not bad enough, really, for any concern. I just thought it was about time I took a more active role in killing myself.

Thursday, December 23

where i've been all week (and will continue to be until it warms up)


Yes, the Santa is terrifying, but it was my grandmother's and so has a certain amount of sentimental value. I get nostalgic about being terrified of it as a young buck.

Happy [insert whatever they say on that T-Mobile commerical here]!

Friday, December 17

friday cat blogging (RIP version)

Merry Christmas!

Thursday, December 16

from the archives (when i get manic i write long emails)

(It really bothers me that I don't remember who this originally was to. If you are the person I wrote this to, let me know. It might not have actually been to anyone. It sounds like the kind of thing I would just make up.)

Dear _____,

On friday I got told TWICE that my life was "boring." Who are these people, and since when was it their business whether or not my life is boring? I guess I never really thought about it before. I'm rarely (if ever) bored, so wouldn't that mean my life isn't boring? Apparently not.

Of course, the two people who told me this think that you're not having fun unless you're tripping off acid (on acid? can opposite prepositions describe the same thing? how strange), so I suppose their opinions don't really matter. Also, they're homophobic and I hate them anyway.

But seriously, boring? I don't think anyone's life ever SOUNDS exciting. The basis of human existence is: eat, sleep, work/school, watch tv; repeat as necessary. (Hey, 1 out of 4 ain't bad.)

Have you seen "A Beautiful Mind"? If so, remember the part where he's decoding all the stuff from the magazines, and he has all these magazine pages pinned up all over his walls and on his desk? I've cleaned up all my shit and ended up taping most of it to the walls, because I think I "NEED" to keep it but don't know what else to do with it. Staring at a TO SCALE version of my "dream barn," I'm feeling a little weird. Maybe I'm crazy and imagining everone, too! I'm just not smart enough to find "codes" in magazines.

I had a very interesting conversation with Toby about the effects of cocaine, and he was laughing because I was being manic and he says, "What you're feeling right now? That's it." On top of the world. Sounds good.

Luke's been listening to David Sedaris. Davy's boyfriend's name is Hugh. That cracks me up. What kind of name is Hugh? If my name were Hugh, I might be tempted to shoot myself--or get a name change. Or move to Colombia (for the men and a "fresh start" where I could be known as HOOLIAHN). Oh, yeah, Davy and speed. That's Luke's favorite part, so far. He talks about how he becomes an artist (except he's not a very good one, just likes to say he's an artist because it sounds cool) and starts doing some meth and is basically nuts, calling people at 3 in the morning. Toby said: "Sucks for you. You get all these fun psuedo-drug symptoms but you can't piss people off calling them in the middle of the night!" (Ten points for using "psuedo" in every day conversation.)

I miss you. Last night I had a waking dream about you. I won't tell you about it; I'm sure you can imagine for yourself.

I'm reading this book called "Stop Pretending" (subtitle: "what happened when my big sister went crazy"). It's a bunch of poems. It's interesting. You can be like Marla--I dated this guy once with a split personality. Except I don't really have a split personality, not in the sense that I think I'm two different people, more in the sense that....

Oops. I went to pet Rio and lost my train of thought.

I miss you. I already said that once, but I guess I think repeating it will make you remember. Don't forget about me when you are busy with all your new friends. :) I haven't forgotten about you with all my...ok...I don't have any friends...but I still haven't forgotten about you! It just doesn't sound so impressive anymore. Damn.

I have to go WORK in the COLD now. Pray that I don't get frostbite and have to have all my limbs amputated.

I love you.

(I'd give it all away/to have someone to come home to.)