The Hipster Brigade
i walk alone
today i felt like a modern age marilyn monroe. with every step i took my skirt was lifted in the air revealing striped underwear. my hands holding down my modesty. i collected cat calls, sly grins and wolf whistles. the good girl looking boys right in the eye. one two and three. holding for seconds that seem to never end. i may never look away, you turn your head slightly and i walk. i gather gazes and pocket them for later when i feel low and down. when i don't feel sexy. lately, it feels like there is me and every other girl. i'm the one that everyone wants. i like that. you like it too. even the windows are jealous.
today, i own the world. everyone has their eyes on me. i'm not nervous.
i know everything about being the weird girl
i don't have a need for gravity. this chain that pulls me down to earth. reality. life. death. i'd much rather spend this time bouncing around and playing guessing games. i can't stand this linear path that quite possibly seems a bit too predestined for my own taste. who believes in fate anyways?
i'm getting tired of school. it's a rough path that i'm ready to give up. move on to burger king or the streets, escaping narrowly down the wrong path. tired of the "hang in theres" and the "you can do its." it doesn't make a difference if you can barely get up in the morning. you can't make sentences flow the way you want them to. you can't read another literary critique for as long as you live. i was never one for analytical bullshit theory. i am no english major.
unfortunately, i like the thought of breakfast on the table sans meaty sausages and crispy bacon slices. i just wanted to get there much faster. you know skip the inbetween. skip the work.
i wonder if this being an artist thing is going to work out. i'm not sure if i will be happy any other way.
i swear i'm invisible everyday
no one likes to read about other people falling in love, not even romantic types. people like to hear about falling out of love and the worst, most embarrassing parts of your day. the parts where you tripped down the stairs spraining your ankle, the paper cut you got at work and the spaghetti sauce you splattered all over your brand new blouse. that's what makes interesting reading. no one likes to read about dream boys and soulmates and models you'll never fuck. people like to hear about the sex you never had or if you are desperate the sex you are having, because somehow if's comforting. like if they can do it, maybe you still have a chance. at someone. people like crushes. reading about crushes is relatable. everyone has crushes and lusts. it doesn't seem to ever stop, even if you are in love, not that you are allowed to talk about if you are. i try to avoid the word boyfriend whenever i can. i say friend and david and all sorts of other things to avoid it. i don't want to sound like one of them. one of those types. one of those types of girls that is constantly raving on and on and on about this and that and this. i hated those girls. in fact, i hated all girls that got any amount of attention from a boy while i sat alone in the lunch room eating bologna sandwiches with mayonaise, soggy lettuce and kraft single slices.
my throat is still sore from last night. drinking softly from clear glasses. it doesn't take much and i'm gone. wasted. wet and eager. it was passionate but i'll leave out the details because no one wants to know about it. no one wants to know about passion. they want to know about passions. obsessions. things that make you tick. things you love. things you hate. volcanoes. japanese language. cats. they want to know that i'm still scared of mummies and the boogie man. they don't want to know that i was on top and that someone probably overheard me moaning loudly in the bathroom and i said, "but i can't help it." and i couldn't stop but i tried. i tried to whisper.
do you remember the first time someone whispered in your ear? the first game of telephone where you were convinced the message came out mangled because you overheard wrong. "cabbage fuck" doesn't even make any sense but that's what came out. alone. i think about all the mistakes i've ever done. i feel a bit better about myself when people admit the mistakes that they have done. that i'm not the only one making mistakes everyday.
everyday i look in the mirror and realize, wow, i really am here.
they take a polaroid and let you go
i feel nothing
just this inbetween middle ground
of even keel
and it's not so bad
i'm just starting to get a bit too comfortable
with no emotion
my YA Literature professor gave me some comments on a story and i can't get over them. i keep thinking to myself that there is no reason to be doing what i'm doing. it's like a joke. i guess this is what Hitler felt like when he was told he couldn't paint or maybe not. but if i'm not supposed to write, then what am i supposed to do?
she used to be such a good girl
i did it.
i flashed the photobooth today.
my boyfriend is lucky.
you are not.
just a boring dream
i keep having dreams where i do nothing. i'm sitting on park benches watching people stroll by. i'm sitting on the bed with my boyfriend talking about video games. i'm talking to her about how her intentions are for just friends. when i wake up, i'm confused. did that just happen or was it a dream?
when dreams and reality become blurred
it equals danger
or maybe it means i have an even more boring life
where my mind thinks talking things out
is more interesting than zombie attacks
or monster truck races.
the world is full of compliments
as i was walking past a homeless person last night, he asked me for spare change, for which i replied sorry and then he said, "nice tits."
fit to a T
he was in the subway car directly across from me last night
a true cowboy
an urban cowboy
from his superman baseball cap
his rugged stubble covered chin
to his cowboy boots
he even swaggered
i would have asked for the time to check for a hint of a husky accent
but i was too intimidated
plus, cowboys don't wear watches, do they?
there was no way i would meet him at high noon
not the bitter buffalo
i only have 23 people on my AIM buddy list now.
i bet you aren't one of them.
spring cleaning, of sorts.
if i don't IM you,
now you know why.
but if you amuse me,
maybe we can be friends again.
i'm just indecisive lately
i don't feel like adding the entire world on livejournal
unless you are a good writer
or take amusing photographs
or are sexy
or i like you
or know you
or you give good head
i just don't care
lately, i want to spend hours by myself
by Jerry Spinelli
and falling in love with rock stars
like modest mouse
and rediscovering ryan adams
and rocking hard to the deathray davies
i guess my heart if feeling a bit too full right now
and i needed to let some of that disgusting ooze
known as love out
because it was starting to weigh me down
a bit too much
not just a stroll through the park
i have blisters from walking around the city in flip flops yesterday
but it was worth it.
i found new underwear
but didn't find a denim skirt
that was short enough
or a goddamn size 8
i made a mix cd
full of doubles
for someone special
there are only two weeks left of school
and i'm not prepared for anything
but i want it to be all over
i was called a cowboy
over the weekend
i bought orchids
and pretended that someone bought them for me
but no one even asked
but i still like playing dress-up
and make believe
i want to take sexy pictures at the library
but for now, i'll settle for the photobooth
i think one day i'll grow up
there were two cats on the way home today. one was grey and white and i gave her the name Mel. she liked to cuddle. the other was warm and manly, and i gave him the name walter. and he pouted when i walked away.
i bought two dvds:
-harold and maude
-what's eating gilbert grape?
i like feeling alive.
the best compliment ever
on the walk home, he said to me laughing, "you sound like a cowboy."
We should get together again some day.
more useless prose-poetry about being awake at ridiculous hours of the early morning even when someone's father is not playing rpgs
oh my god.
it's almost 5am.
why am i still awake?
i want to be done.
done with school.
right right right now.
i think i might have glued my eyelids in the open position.
new section update: haikus
for the masses
so if you're lonely//you know i'm here waiting for you: written in unnecessary prose-poetry format
i admit it could have been awkward.
i thought it was going to be awkward.
it was not
it's not a like a first kiss
losing your virginity
in the back seat of a volvo wagon
or telling your crush that yes, you do lust
it was death
recounted in countless songs
suggested on mere whims by the miserable
taken to the extreme everyday
here, a serious matter
that no one wants to face alone
even if she was a great-grandmother
maybe it was selfish the reason i wanted to go:
i didn't want to be here by myself
and there aren't that many weekends left before i leave to go what seems like a million miles away.
i wanted to go
and there was no hesitation (perhaps just a bit) when i said yes
he wanted me there
and i wanted to be there
all the warnings were unnecessary
i felt right at home
especially with a (bitchy) sabrina cat
and a (vicious) muffin kitty
at my feet
and in my lap
even in the face of a thousand and one relatives
all new faces
there was no want to abandon the situation
and go live up in my head for the weekend
i never once felt out of place
even in a room with a deer head trophy
and the singled out herbivore
i didn't think about one responsibility
in these hectic last weeks
not that you care
i updated the photobooth
section down there with some R-rated goodness.
my thoughts are so loud
"there's a stalker book? i've got to read that."
~Joel Barish from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
i like to watch people. i like finding out about someone from faraway. perhaps that's why makeoutclub
are so popular. you peek into someone's life without knowing more than a username, a list of interests and an overly dramatic pose shot icon.
i used to collect facts. birthdays. heights. interests. horoscope signs. hair colour. eye colour. i knew it all. then i started forgetting first names and i didn't even know last names. i used to like people based on the things they liked. maybe i still do. is it really that bad?
i used to like bands with cute lead singers. now i hardly bother to find out the lead singer's name.
is this a small step forward or a thousand step backward?
i've run out of ideas and i'm vain
you don't know me, but you think you do. i know i have done the same things with people. i do it everyday. i take peeks into someone's written life and i feel like i almost know them. i can guess their next moves in life. where they will get a job? what kind of people they have crushes on? if they prefer cats to dogs? i can guess it all.
but you just can't figure someone else by some typed up verbs, nouns and adjectives. the prettiest language does not make a person. it just makes words and sentences and paragraphs. similies and metaphors are how you know the person. the paper person. not the real flesh and bone.
so i thought i would straighten out some of your misconceptions. here is me in more words.
i sometimes get so angry that i want to smash things. i kick walls and cry and yell. i hit pillows till white fluff spills out like marshmellow guts. sometimes i scratch my arms up and down with my nails. just enough to make long red trails. nothing more. no blood. no mess. just enough to feel something.
sometimes i'm annoyingly silly. i'm big into onomatopoeias. i'm always zooming and grumbling and saying words like "confetti" or "centipede" outloud for on reason at all. i love stupid jokes and don't think twice about making them, even if it is so 8th grade. or even, second grade.
i am terrible at math.
i'm very sensitive. overly sensitive. i can't watch movies where animals get injured or killed. i don't like violence. although, i love action movies.
i'm an easy cry. i cry when my friends are sad. i cry at cheesy romantic movies. i don't watch those unless my sister forces me.
my sister is 15. she is so much cooler than i was at 15. she goes to boarding school in italy.
my dad lives in germany. my mom goes back and forth between texas and germany and italy. i think my mom is more beautiful than any actress in the entire world. although, she doesn't believe me when i say that. i look like her. kinda.
i love staring at people on the subway.
i have this thing for red headed boys and freckles. when i was a little girl, i wanted freckles so badly. i never got any.
i am 25% japanese. i almost went to college in honolulu to major in japanese but instead i'm in boston majoring in writing.
almost all my friends at college are asian. i have no idea why.
i want to go to california to hang out with barrios
. and yes, i talk to them on the phone. i know them pretty well. i think. but people always surprise me. but they might be my favorite people ever.
i have a boyfriend. he is a very skillful writer. he has nice wrists. i like him. a lot.
i watch a lot of porn. almost everyday. no shame.
i cannot watch horror films without jumping a lot and being a huge wuss that covers their eyes and peeks through their hand.
i am an elitist. i am trying to get over it.
i make mix cds.
i like my blue jeans the darkest blue you can get.
i love the smell of laundry and fresh cut grass.
i'm allergic to the japanese yew, but just the berries.
my favorite foods are indian and thai.
i can't write poetry. only haikus.
i used to hate the beatles and i can't believe i admitted to that.
the end. for now.
sick of titles
when did i become so abstract?
i'm so death-y lately.
i'll blame it on the cure
I wanted to say I would never hurt you in the ways T. did. But I know I have already, in my own. But while he took solace in your mutual pains, I have been trying since that day to close the wound, to treat it and help it heal so that some day you can barely find a scar to show people, while I’m still hiding the one I gave myself that day. Hopefully, for his sake, T. will someday learn to replace pain with pleasure. Then, with luck, while we sit in each others’ arms, spending yet another lazy weekend in bed together watching movies and discussing how this all almost never was, he will be doing the same with someone who can make him happy as well and move on.
i guess we all make mistakes
i used to be so independent.
hours and hours
hiding behind a computer screen
walking the streets of boston
with cds in my purse
for no one special.
now i can't stand to be alone
for too long.
does not wanting to be alone at night
make me too dependent
72 ways to go down the crapper
i was never scared of dying.
in fact, i would spend long evenings discussing
the way i would go
heavy metal band
and ice sculpters
bloody ring around the tub
cryptic lipstick messages on mirrors
cats licking sulphor wounds
dare devil motorcyle metal pits
sword swallower and the iceman
cyborgs and binary code
the end is far from near
rather die alone in bed
lying next to a man
with a generic name
dropping the subject
was never so hard before
not good at goodbyes
never one for games
bruised thighs and candy necklace
were never enough
leaving it unsaid
you don't understand silence
this way to exit
I miss your warm nouns, sexy adjectives and biting verbs.
down to business
there are some days when i wake up and wish i could just push the restart button of my life. empty out the history cache and be completely blank. day 1 of 22 years. maybe i could store some memories for later in a box under my bed marked nostalgia. i could peek at them on rainy sundays and relive parts of my life that never happened yet.
but since i can't do that.
i close my eyes
and think about
riding on top of
I would come around-cold and tired and you would be there. Where ever, anywhere I needed you. I never suspected that you might just leave one day. And then you did. I am here with my problems and my desperation-and you're gone. I remember how you used to listen to me talk for hours. Faces pressed close, I'd breathe onto your lips and rub your nose with mine. It never really compensated for the fact that I was a succubus.
There are only so many days that can go by with disinterest. I tell you that I want inside again. That I want to unlock the door. I still have the red plastic key you gave me. The one that you said unlocked your head, and went straight to your soul. I never used it then, and now the dog chewed it around the edges. Broken just like me.
I still remember the way your lips tasted. A mixture of sweet lipgloss and of the Japanese rice candies you were always eating. I couldn't stand them, but on you, they tasted like the sugary syrup of Cadbury Eggs on Easter. I remember the hugs, firm and tight, and you would hold on for what seemed like 25 seconds too long and then you would brush me off and walk away without turning back like it was too hard to say goodbye. And yeah, goodbyes are hard, especially since the bye we had wasn't even that good. But badbye sounds stupid. Like I was.
When I wake up next to you, when I spend my days with my arms around you, one thing I often think is, I’m glad that I’m not stuck missing you like T. He and I have both realized how much we need you and all I can do is be happy that I’m not the one who realized it too late. I feel bad for him. Really I do. But a guy can only feel so bad for someone he’d otherwise be jealous of.
Yes, the maracas. I couldn't help it. B.O.B.*wouldn't let me play anything else. Plus, I knew you were instantly delighted by the fact that I was in a band. I joined for you. You always told me that Mexican food was some of your favorite.
*editor's note: B.O.B. -- stands for: Burritos Over Breakfast. music: mariachi, of course