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NOVEMBER 17

In the understanding of time’s un-objectivity, i knew that the passage of the first week would be most difficult. But all the same, i worried also about the strangeness of hastened passage, the normalizing of absence that would follow. Was I more fearful of the lost thrill in of friendship? 

Anyway, time to find a new preoccupation. And the cruel part is that, even living in an interim, there is still not yet a beacon to look forward to, either.

[me-t00th-blog]

MAY 27; LETTER

This isn’t the first time I’ve been home in a while, but I can’t help but feel like it is, so intensely that I have to recap my linearity just to make sure. But there’s something so fun about it, just being self indulgent and uncorked like I haven’t been in years. I’m having a lot of fun collecting items- weird stuff. A little mummified dead bird, nike tennis shoes from the late 1970s (a half size too small), a gold choker, adidas track pants (8 and counting, all thrifted or found)- oh, and discarded, misfit furniture from some collegiate corner of Harvard. My room is a cosmopolitan mess of milk crates and the modernist scraps of bookshelves and plywood. I have been nesting and re-nesting, staring at space and just thinking about what would fit. And taking on self-consciously (altho trying not to be, if that makes sense) needless projects, like making my own underwear (but ill send u pix!) -

I’m blowing off that boy I like. I always burn the wick so fast. If only they knew how I just love myself too much. But I also never promise anyone anything, and I’m learning how important that is. I care about people’s feelings- a lot, which I think doesn’t always translate. But I let in manifest in weird ways- ways that certainly don’t help. I hope at least theres something to how it comes form a place of sincerity.

Ok- here’s the thing. It occurred to me today, after being way too active

for way too long, that i wanted to have a little revisitation to my friend weed (haha yeah- now u get it-) … but i haven’t kept in touch with anyone here (kinda like I’m an identity someone just made up.) so finding weed is hard. I was trying tinder for a while, but that , of course, ended poorly. Last time i was hope i ended up with that weirdo, smoking a decaying blunt in the marbled passageways of central cambridge. Finally, I put on my Yankees cap and walked down to the little park by the waterfront, where I bought an eighth from a group of kids that were definitely younger than me. The dorkiest kid, flannel-clad, didn’t even understand the phrasing i used - “hey, do you guys have, or are you just smoking?”- “have we smoked?” - His friend, the one who dealt to me via his mini, blue light up scale, looked embarrassed. Maybe I hit him up in tinder, now that i think about it. I’m going to delete it now. Haha. What a day.

I love smoking here, in my nice, safe little room, around this spooky little new england neighborhood.

Craig doesn’t know that I can’t commit, in any sphere. I wasn’t ever really planning to go out, and to feel an obligation because the person I am sleeping with is doing something doesn’t stem from me.

Is that fair?

I think I want to continue the trend of caring for myself. Why be brought down by fear over the term selfish?

I’ve been wearing the yankees cap around for both sun safety and entertainment. The best accessory for cambridge, MA is antagonism.

I love you much. Mwah.

[me-t00th-blog]

DECEMBER 27

mental illness

impatience

the notion of wasted time

impresence. impermanence. worry. disassociation. music or the radio, silence or my own thoughts. not apologizing when you walk into a room. not acting as you should, rather, acting as you are, and so, realize who you are. what matter. have some good sex, maybe, as a reality rather than an abstraction.

and time is real, now and then and only not in the future, kind of. look in the mirror and comprehend your face.

polyfiber blend caught sunlight in the windowpane and stretched across the kitchen

floor.

[me-t00th-blog]

DECEMBER 26

i am so tired of spending all day on my ass.

why cant i love bricklaying or sponsored marathon running? i have been salty all day and it occludes my objectivity. and i say, damn, who else becomes so fettered by the notion of being objective, anyway? or perhaps if more, more than so few, did then you wouldn’t have to labor over yourself so often. but dana, don’t be self-indulgent. 

earlier i snapped into a happy mindset, seeing insecurity as only thought obstruction, negativity as a balm only congesting. obscuring all the good things. my anxieties, anyhow, all based around exciting, affirming challenges.

excitement feels like a transplant, a new essence and energy that then becomes part of you. i have had it before, its absence is probably why I have felt so listless.

[me-t00th-blog]

DECEMBER 23

it was a sick game, made up of winning, 

winning, as always, giving way to a sense of competition. a finished challenge. knew i could not pull off nicey-nice. but maybe the smart girl, the decisive girl, the powerful girl who is actually really quite striking, too, now that they’re really looking. and the smart beautiful poised girl both wins and loses, inherently, by nature of not really wanting to play the game. she wins by being impressive, loses because in all her achievement, she may make them uneasy. she has some kind of demeanor; not cold, not even mean or unfriendly, but maybe perceptive? or maybe they want to call it elitism. maybe they call her a bitch. sometimes a synonym for indefinable. 

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DECEMBER 22

i wondered if there was anything to soulmates. 

the word is easy to dismiss. but i believe in a person, that may exist, maybe for everyone, that loves and guides, or whatever it is. that just fits you like nobody else can. and is that inherently romantic? sexual? even loving? 

maybe the love is a given, and so then, is romance arbitrary? And then where is the line between sexual? Tingling? Attraction? Love and in love and lust...

the point is that I have a soulmate and it will always be complex. but still, it’s love plain and simple, and I know because I feel it like heat and skin and bloodflow. feels like history and culmination, like value, the value of my life, like how she could maybe be everything and I wouldn’t be the least bit disappointed. 

[me-t00th-blog]

DECEMBER 21

west 34th street

handsome construction worker handsome bellboy handsome olive-complexion receptionist, too well-spoken for my taste. handsome filtered between too many layers, too much mammalian self-preservation like, could they would they ever want me back? or something freudian or something completely pheromonal adrenal or metaphysical. handsome construction worker would probably share none of my neurosis, for better or for worse, but who am I to lay that burden on the unafflicted?

handsome construction worker has blue titanium eyes, reddish face, crag face, ash beard. im sitting there and he’s working and we’re all time differentiation- him having none for me, my thoughts and my language and the chinoiserie feelings I shelve and dust on occasion. so lofty they revert back to immaterial.  

and flanking him a big-assed businessman plays house, wearing stoic face like men learn form their fathers. and he feeds his small wife orders as she smiles, immaterial, also. 

[me-t00th-blog]

DECEMBER 20

being an (overly) confident woman

today i imagined myself to have distracted some tidy beardy guy, during some tidy live taping. an NPR segment in the BPL. with a fuck-me stare, arched eyebrows, sideways glance and three well-held inches on him. and he stammered as he spoke on some radio history in NPR drawl.