Hey, Jess, you should exercise, and stop turning in shitty assignments, and get a job.
just, love, sinking pits,
like mobiles caught mid turn,
you turn around.
now stay. with. me.
listening to a song with a single violin, glancing out my window and seeing a yellow moon behind the silhouette of trees..
there are some moments in time that can only be described, while simultaeously falling to the power of cliche, as intense.
After school today, I'm setting up the lobby for my very first photography show next Monday and Tuesday. I have 20 photographs from the course of my independent study this semester. I've given out over 40 invitations, and I think most people will come, and a lot will bring others. I may even make an announcement next week for the school that anyone can come.
My school is evil and made it impossible to use wireless connections on our laptops. Luckily, I can plug into the network through an ethernet cable to the wall. I don't think they've figured out that trick yet, and I intend to use it until school ends.
Speaking of which, this is our last full week of school. Next week is four days of finals, then the next is graduation practice, and then hey - graduation. Then I have to grow up. Shit.
My dad is laying tile in our kitchen, and has therefore taken every appliance out to do the job. So right now I'm drinking cold coffee like soup from a spoon, because drinking it regularly is just a little too weird for me.
It's raining still and that's so relaxing for me. But for the house alarm going off int he middle of the night across the street, I slept so peacefully, and may take a nap today at some point.
Here's the truth:
I can't take criticism.
It brings me down. It makes me feel like shit. it makes me think I'm not doing enough, not working hard enough. It makes me think I'm not good enough.
Maybe I'm not good enough.
The people whose opinions I get aren't experts, by far, in the field. They praise me and I take that to mean something.
And then I get opinions from an expert and everything kind of crumbles.
shhhh. that impossible lightning-stop clamour is going to beign, to beat its heavy pulse, imprint itself into our bodies like we sat too long on a plastic-scrub carpet. stay clear of the halls, but the rooms will fill, will almost burst from the enormity of it, the endless parade of practically silent thunder.
the bell is going to ring. go to second block like a herd of cattle, our bells, metaphors for ones around our necks, clanging like the heavy ones that robots will wear, quite like us.
Dieting season is at its peak, and with it comes - I know, you can barely contain your excitement - food lists.
I am only doing this because I am a sad, obsessed girl.
All consumed during this day:
Breakfast: 1 banana, 1 cup coffee
Not bad. Tomorrow, will replace cottage cheese with one cup of yogurt and a few pretzels. Need to mix it up a little every day.
Is this very very scary?
space, an unfortunate habit that you can
trace, to the existence of
corner, an edge, the only connection to the
mourner, a deletion at the end of the board
like most, it's an open and shut case
no bells, no whistles, no ribbon or lace
there's no product of things torn, or
leaping back to that of their former
in a ___ underground
here, the hot sky sinks in deep
and here, a meteor, caught in a leap
was pushing, pulling
ignorant and all of them rich, these are the kids.
bummed a ride on old man's card,
but caught lick and cane.
cried on her skirts achieving
lollypops for pain.
spilled their green ketchup
on mom's evening gown.
they laughed, whatever,
took their green on the town.
now they're at a waystation for two
still lugging their precious Playstations - get a clue