terrified.

Onset of panic: I've lost my nearly full Moleskine.

Biggest fear: Who has found it?

strikethrough.

You should really try sleeping with a lump in your throat.

(I hope you fucking choke.)

Hmm. I've been writing a lot, but it's all fallen into two categories: super angry, hate-filled pieces. Or what I like to call 'sad bastard' things. Which kind of makes it all hard to share, to put it out there in the world. Because A. Brutal honesty runs the gamut of mean, hurtful, exposing, embarrassing, pathetic and just really profoundly sad. And B. Hard to really get a feel for something without some sort of background story/information. Which, frankly, I am terrible at sharing.

Of course, the 'sad bastard' area is what I do best. Most of the best things I've written are from that mindset.

My internet being "out" for 3 weeks has also hindered my posting. I suppose I'll be back, now.

And also:
I have so much to look forward to in the Summer Months that I can't help but be a little... Excited.

zipped.

(Writing this while baking my blackberry in an oven preheated to 200 degrees. a web forum trick, what's the worst that could happen?)

I have been shut off from the rest of the world for a few days. By choice and also by circumstance, I suppose. My internet has been down for a bit (verizon/frontier/whatever will fix it tomorrow). Also, my phone has been partially (now fully) not working for 3 days-ish.

So no internet, no netflix, no calls, no texts, no facebook (which I rarely use anyway..). It's been interesting. Nice, even. Except when I receive texts and I am unable to read them. THAT drives me nuts. Of course, I wouldn't respond given my behavior and actions lately, but I still am curious as to who is wishing to speak to me.

I think I've spoken to two people outside of my family this week. Maybe 3-5 texts at most. No calls.

And in my latest cave adventure (black hole entrapment, deaf and mute episode, angsty depression-like mood,etc Call it what you wish) I've wrote a lot. Read even more. And watched a ton of movies.

The writing: well that's been all over the place. High and low. Sarcastic and meaningful. Downright nasty to sickeningly optimistic. You know, the norm for me. But it's all from outerspace. It means nothing to everyone else. I guess that's okay. There's a time and place for everything. Maybe right now is the time for a solo trip around the milky way, plunging into deep, desolate space.

The reading:
I finished two books I'd started. One is a drama set in France in the 80's. Sort of a tortured love affair kind of thing. I think I could read a french cookbook or a shopping receipt from a french convenience store and be Enchanted. Really. It's fucking France, ya know? So beautiful. I just love everything about it. (I miss learning the language).

The 2nd book I finished was called Wasted: a memoir. It's a book about a woman's lifelong struggle with anorexia. SUCH a good read. The author really showed all the ugly (and the pretty) sides of her lifestyle. I was thoroughly sucked in.

I also read through two entire issues of Vogue. Cover to cover. Both really inspired me in different ways. Not even talking about fashion/style. That's a given. But the stories were about ordinary people who came from all walks of life who ended up doing these extraordinarily amazing things. One person was running the MET by herself after becoming widowed and bored, another was this great artist who is currently filming a documentary or an artistic piece where he RUNS into the middle of a tornado with his camera. So awesome. Just people doing things they love and ending up living spectacular, fulfilled lives because of it.

I. Want. That.

The watching:
So without netflix, I've had to resort to (dare I say it!) TV. I found a little show called "Taboo" on NatGeo and quickly became obsessed. Okay, so I happened upon a marathon, don't judge me. But it's super interesting. People who eat glass, weigh 75 pounds, involuntarily orgasm all day, skydive in dangerous places, suburban moms who have sex for money. It's great. I love watching stories about people who are creepier than me. Ha. Anyway, the next and newest episode is about a woman who claims she is in love with a cement WALL, and a man who kisses automobiles, obsessively. Um, I can't miss this.

I also finished season 3 of Dexter. The best so far. Very hooked.

Moviewise, I've been busy. I watched Love and Other Drugs, Tron (second time), No
Strings Attached (aka Natalie Portman in a romantic comedy. Ugh.), the social network (3rd time, 1st @ home), the Secret Garden (1993!), Eclipse (lol, yes that eclipse), Moon (!!), and Roger Rabbit. A wide range there.

Of course I let movies, music, books and tv affect me more than they should. So, I've been kind of crazy. Added to all the other things on my brain this week I've been kind of a mess. But the good kind of mess. A creative mess!

I have this idea in my head about letters to boys. Reasons I can't marry them. A bulleted list. or aka it's not me, it's you. I don't know, just something I'm thinking about.

But then again, what am I NOT thinking about lately?

starch.

A study in contrasts.

Ant hills of half-chewed fingernails.
Charred tips of skirts and shirt tails,
Lightning in technicolor.

(ghosts can do most everything)

A vial of sand hung round her neck,
Fillet of weeds upon her head.
But who can sleep with such adornments?
Oh, these things only pretend to fill the empty spaces.

(arsenic should do the trick)

You whispered that love was a revolution,
How I hid my face for fear of weeping.

great estates.

Perfectly symmetrical pools of water. Five hundred, at least. With irrelevant teal peninsulas wedged between them creating a lawless maze around the water. Not man made, no, the signs proclaimed otherwise. Tiny insignificant signs declaring a natural disaster transpired beneath my feet. This information could be easily overlooked if your eyes were fixated on the bigger picture. Thousands upon thousands of miniature lakes, filled with gray unremarkable water. Birthed from a lightning storm, an earthquake, a tornado? God's form into fingers, the master puppeteer, with a penchant for balance. Liquid so still it produced a slight suffocation in my chest if I gazed intently for more than a mere second or two.

I remember feeling a similar reaction, before.

Meandering along the edges; I am lost, but unconcerned. Withdrawing from my reflection in each pool of water, dismayed by the sight of my own empty eyes. Slate blue today, mirroring the sky's palette, like always.

There are no fish.

And that's not all.

Interference.

Why do I continuously believe I can change people? No, change is the wrong word. It’s more like I hope to make them recognize the best versions of themselves. I need to cause that blur. I want to be vital, an essential element within someone. I want to be the reason someone breathes, not for me, but because I exist in their world. (And because I choose to remain there).

Everyone wants to stay miserable. What is there to say when you’re happy? What is there to fucking feel when you’re happy? It’s such a joke, this endless quest for bliss.

I need to feel alive. I want to be challenged intellectually, overcome with physical emotion. I want to burn from all five senses. Set me on fire, I don’t care. I promise I’ll reciprocate.

Justine told me that she stopped hating people when she met Dan. “I just love him so much, and have so much love for him that there isn’t room to hate anyone anymore.”

I want to be sleepy. Or drunk. Or nothing.
Something other than this.
Oh, the possibilities. What happened to freewill?