January 30th, 2005

Subject: because some people still believe despite everything Time: 03:26 pm

and many people did cry tears of joy for once. what a time we live in. where do we go down in history? what's the meaning of everything lost and gained? the world is so much bigger than us. but we, are the world. i get so lost. it's happened in the past. it will happen in the future. from our beginning till our end. long after we become dust, only after our planet becomes dust. but the universe is so large. right now there is another planet filled with loud oppression and quiet dreams. we'll rise and we'll fall. we'll speak and we'll be silenced. we'll seek and we'll hide. we'll be brave and we'll be cowards. we'll live and we'll die. that's all we really know. everything in between is so much more than simple truths.

Time: 03:17 pm Current Mood: sad

( what the rest of the world watched on inauguration day )

January 29th, 2005

Time: 03:25 pm

January 17th, 2005

Subject: You should meet my friend Allen Ginsberg Time: 12:47 pm

I dropped a towel on the bathroom floor next to a book of Allen Ginsberg's poetry. And I started to cry ashamed of how little I knew about the man behind the covers. I used to carry him in the back pocket of my levi's when I was seventeen years old, going on twenty-something, so I thought then. Now, twenty-two I am crouched on this bathroom floor, a labyrinth of white tiles mocking me stained in spots, in black, in brown. And I remember the song we sang on that last drive towards your apartment. Silence sometimes was my best answer, 'don't be so quiet.' Your eyes make me apologize for mistakes I'm always about to make. 'I'm sorry.' 'For what?' 'I don't know. I just am.' You should meet my friend Allen Ginsberg. You know, you wouldn't get him at all. If anything maybe just a kick till you get bored or annoyed. You'd look at me from across the room and mouth to me 'when is he gonna leave?' And I'll laugh outloud and you'll cringe 'shhhhh.' Shhhh... You were my poetry flowing through MY veins you know? We sat in that loud bar in that table of four. Our two friends talking, or maybe just watching us, we were always a little bit peculiar hiding a secret even we didn't know about. You faced me, our knees touching, 'I don't really like poetry. I don't really get it.' Oh? 'But I like the poem you wrote me C'est La Vie.' Everytime we were so close to confessing you would just say c'est la vie. As if speaking in French would cover up our cowardice, or give us an excuse for one more nervous laugh. You should meet my friend Allen Ginsberg. You know, you wouldn't get him at all. But he came by this morning and told me 'grow some balls and tell that pretty girl you love her.'

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January 14th, 2005

Current Music: closer Subject: closer Time: 01:18 am Current Mood: closer

.holy.fuck. i read the last page and the book just fell out of my hands onto the top of my wrinkled sheets. and my heart forgot to beat for a moment. (Ever seen a human heart? It looks like a fist wrapped in blood. GO FUCK YOURSELF... you... WRITER. You LIAR.) how could a book feel heavier than my heart? i feel like crying but i can't. i wish i could lie but all i can think are truths. (I don't want to lie and I can't tell the truth so it's over.) i just want to go for a walk. i always... just want to go for a walk. but there is never, never a place to go. and the time is always, always wrong. it's always too dark. too cold. too late. too peculiar. and i'm always too.fuckin.scared to.

January 13th, 2005

Time: 09:08 pm

I can't stop thinking about strangers. I can't stop obsessing over strangers. I can't stop losing sleep over strangers. I can't stop staring at strangers. I can't stop painting strangers. I can't stop writing poetry for strangers. I can't stop fantasizing strangers. I can't stop wondering about strangers. All I desire is a beautiful stranger. All I desire is a breath-taking stranger. All I desire is a passionate stranger. All I desire is an intimate stranger. Even I, don't want a face anymore. Even I, just want to be a fleeting moment in strangers' lives. I don't need you to remember my name. I don't need you to know my face. I just want you to remember the way I felt. The way we felt on a certain day of a certain month at a certain hour at a certain place. The way we felt only with our sixth sense. The way it was more than an eternity of five forevers in that one moment. The way we left without ever speaking, catching our names, only catching our souls, shaking our heads. Never knowing more. Never knowing less.

Subject: non(fiction) Time: 08:39 pm

Ok, you're done. Now my turn. She takes a whiff of my hair and gives me a smile of approval and kisses me on my forehead. Yummy. She turns around, her back now facing me. Tiny waterfalls play off her shoulderblades hitting the pink tiles under our feet exploding into water bombs. I squeeze the bottle of shampoo dispensing a button size gel that slowly begins to ooze onto the edges of my palm. I quickly work them into her hair. So if it was between saving the life of one person you know and a million strangers far away you'll never even meet, you would pick the strangers? Yes. My hands busy tangled into her hair as she squeezes her eyes tight and wipes away water falling down her face. A winter snow quickly falls on top of her brown locks. Well what if that one person you knew was me?... Would you still save the strangers? Slowly the spring rain washes away the snow exposing dark brown earth underneath. Yes. The snow is now gone. Ok. Done. She turns around. Thank you. She kisses the corners of my eyes. One. Two. Tears fall on pink tiles under our feet and they explode as tiny water bombs.

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January 12th, 2005

Subject: turn.over.turn Time: 11:11 am Current Mood: spoken

inside, a baby bird. leaves, twigs, words, paragraphs, pages and books. go unnoticed. waste gifts of thought.

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Subject: text. Time: 11:10 am Current Mood: written

challenge challenge me. break break these walls. touch touch my hands. tell me you've known me all along for much too long.

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Subject: .tuck under. Time: 11:09 am Current Mood: untouchable

falling up, climbing down strands of a cut throat devastation. drip, drip, creep. (and she tells me i'm a creep. feeling uninspired think i'll start a fire.) camouflage a facade and watch it become real. *italicized words from STP "creep"

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Subject: snip.snip Time: 11:08 am Current Mood: weightless

your poetic submission flies away like a butterfly from the palm of my outstreched hands. reaching and you float.

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January 4th, 2005

Time: 07:27 am

my mom told me i need to start leaving the house. 'go somewhere. go to the mall. walk around.' she also told me i need to see some sun. 'why? do i look dead or something?' 'yes.' 'oh.' i've been having a killer headache, cold, numb feet and hands, a sore throat every time i wake up, a dizzy spell every time i stand up. and she thinks i need to leave the house... i'll admit that there are times when it feels like i'm withering away alone in my basement. but then... it always seems like the best thing for me. not the withering away alone part. but you know, making work. or at least thinking about it when i'm not. and being close to my work and the means to create the work. i just keep thinking and reminding myself if i can consistently lock myself away for the next two to five years and just focus i might be able to have created something great. and then i can start living in the world again. once i've made something of myself... then i can stop worrying and just enjoy life. i'm just a little bit worried that: a.) i might go crazy b.) i won't be able to adjust when the time comes or c.) i might die. well, i might not literally die. but i feel some part of me dying everyday. i'm just trying to figure out if it's a part of me i can do without.

December 27th, 2004

Time: 11:26 pm

my mom and i sat on the couch in our tv room upstairs and sang (awfully and loudly) for a good half an hour. we sang 'bridge over troubled water' 'yesterday' and a few korean songs. we don't sing together. (well we probably shouldn't sing period.) we don't sit around and do things like that. the whole thing really touched me. it's cheesy. i was crying because i was laughing so hard but some of the tears came because i was very much overwhelmed inside. i made my dad come upstairs and he sat next to my mom and put his hand on her knees. then... he left because he couldn't stand our singing : ) as alone as i've made myself, as alone as i've felt sitting inside my basement for months at end unable to really leave, i've seen my mom and dad every single day. sometimes it's us arguing, sometimes it's me telling them to leave me alone, leave my room, but i see them every day. and they see me every day. and some nights, some nights, apparently we sing out of tune at eleven thirty in the evening. i'm really glad i'm home.

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Time: 03:39 pm

i'm a bad person. it never makes sense. millions of innocent children, lives have been lost while twenty two years of my own was wasting away. there is no god. there is no just god. it's not fair to make examples of the innocent for the sake of our soul searching. guilt, sorrow, and humility is no replacement for joy, hope, and beauty of those still unaffected by filth. again and again i apologize. but i'm so sorry.

Subject: ...what's important to you? Time: 03:24 pm

A billion people died on the news tonight But not so many cried at the terrible sight Well mama said It's just make believe You can't believe everything you see So baby close your eyes to the lullabies On the news tonight Who's the one to decide that it would be alright To put the music behind the news tonight Well mama said You can't believe everything you hear The diagetic world is so unclear So baby close your ears On the news tonight On the news tonight The unobtrusive tones on the news tonight And mama said Why don't the newscasters cry when they read about people who die? At least they could be decent enough to put just a tear in their eyes Mama said It's just make believe You cant believe everything you see So baby close your eyes to the lullabies On the news tonight Jack Johnson

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November 13th, 2004

Subject: give me back my point of view Time: 05:15 am

Trouble Oh trouble set me free I have seen your face And it’s too much too much for me Trouble Oh trouble can’t you see You’re eating my heart away And there’s nothing much left of me I’ve drunk your wine You have made your world mine So won’t you be fair So won’t you be fair I don’t want no more of you So won’t you be kind to me Just let me go where I’ll have to go there Trouble Oh trouble move away I have seen your face And it’s too much for me today Trouble Oh trouble can’t you see You have made me a wreck Now won’t you leave me in my misery I’ve seen your eyes And I can see death’s disguise Hangin’ on me Hangin’ on me I’m beat, I’m torn Shattered and tossed and worn Too shocking to see Too shocking to see Trouble Oh trouble move from me I have paid my debt Now won’t you leave me in my misery Trouble Oh trouble please be kind I don’t want no fight And I haven’t got a lot of time Cat Stevens

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November 7th, 2004

Subject: te rog fata frumoasa mea, Time: 04:35 am Current Mood: obosita

ia-ma cu tine... cu dragoste, Michelle

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October 27th, 2004

Time: 05:19 am

there was blood splattered all over the wall. it was just one.time. one quick-close-your-eyes-clench-your-teeth-your-fist-just-go-now-now-now. a puddle of red on the floor.resembling a mix of alizarin red and deep cadmium red with a drip of linseed oil to make it a little gooier.when the liquid dries it will darken considerably and form a hardened crust, often with cracks resulting from evaporating gases escaping to disappear into the atmosphere. 'breathe me now.' the left side of the face/head resembles the cherry pie you dropped in seventh grade in home ec which resulted in your group getting an 'f.' they all hated you that day. in fact you're pretty sure those four kids didn't clap on the day of your highschool graduation when they announced your name. they saw that pie hanging over your head as you shook your principals hand with pieces of broken off golden crust and mashed up cherry chunks. the other half of the face/head resembles your own reflection. except much more peaceful. except looking at you straight in the eye. something you've never done in all your life, all the times you've stood in front of the mirror. even as you straightened out your bangs carefully you avoided every glance. focus on the hair and hair only you would remind yourself. not the eyes. not the eyes... when i was seven after learning how to ride a bike i was filled with excitement and i raced down a hill that ran along my neighborhood. i hadn't learned yet about breaks and how they work or don't really work. the wheels tried to stop as i told them to but couldn't. i fell.off. i fell.down. i slid down the hill my right arm leading the way. rocks and broken pieces of glass and plastic once left on the ground as trash were now embedding themselves as a grand collection into my flesh. bleeding, bleeding. so much blood. onto the gravel road i painted red. when i was ten i opened up a new toothbrush. after brushing my teeth i put it in the toothbrush holder next to my brother's and my mom's. i realized my brother and i had identical brushes. both with orange rims and red handles. i panicked. i thought his was yellow! i found a roll of tape to mark mine with a flag made of plastic tape at one end. it wouldn't tear. it wouldn't rip. i found a razor on my mom's vanity. instead of cutting tape it slashed through a vein on my fourth left finger. bleeding, bleeding. so much blood. onto the white, white walls i splashed red. blood is like paint. can you imagine all the works of art made over the years? turn the battle grounds during all the wars into canvases. tell me, what do you see in this painting made by world war one, two? yes, it's a lot like a color-field painting. a bit like rothko. just saturated blocks of red. what do you see in this painting made by the suicide bomber? jackson pollack-like. drips of red here and there. what do you see in the painting made by a drive by? what do you see in the painting made by this single cut? the earth is filled with canvases collecting each drop. each blood shed a painting. a painting. every head beheaded, a work or art. don't look at him. look at the ground. look at what he's painted. every wrist slit is a process. look at the walls. look at the crisp red lines criss-crossing. this has nothing to do with.anything. i just wonder what shade of red my blood comes out and why it is i've yet to bother to figure out. it's just a color. we're all sort of like giant tubes of red paint walking around. now that... is silly and made me laugh. the fact that that is my deep thought of the day. "well, after much consideration i have decided that we... are all just giant tubes of red paint." i think in fact i'll be a tube of red paint for halloween. it's settled. i wish i wasn't so funny sometimes. i wasn't supposed to giggle at the end of this entry. but it's funny... to imagine everyone as a tube of paint. tubes of paint eating burgers. tubes of paint on the phone. tubes of paint making out. tubes of paint having sex. tubes of paint playing on the computer...tubes of paints doing our every day activities. jeez michelle. can't you just be serious for one fuckin second? probably not. go in the corner and be sad for five minutes. okay. then... can i make another joke? maybe. i either take everything way too seriously or way too lightly. this is starting to really fuck with me. i really would much rather not deal with a multiple personality disorder. i already twice had to explain to my art classes why i do such different styles/content of art work (between more realistic portraits and my abstract poetry series.) it's already embarassing enough to say it's because i am two different people when it comes to art making and there is no compromise so i have to do both things... i don't want to start living all of my life as two different people. that would be really hard. i'm not supposed to be really crazy... i'm just not. i guess i should really stop talking to myself. okay. yeah. starting... now. ...fuck. it's just late. early. that's all.

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October 25th, 2004

Time: 12:44 am

it just hit me that maria is gone. i saved her hugs once a week as my relief. the moment of contact i could be fooled into beliving things were okay. i can't tell you why. i decided she would save me and it worked. i guess she's now in romania. i guess it's morning there when it's night here. i needed something. some one. just one thing. i made her it. or maybe she just made herself it. she was somehow perfect. i think she was the last person i hugged. strange. i used to hug people every day. and now i haven't hugged anyone since wedsnday night. 'okay, i'll see you.' 'yup. later.' what kind of a good bye was that? i guess it wasn't supposed to be. but it was. stupid me. i think i'm going to regret admitting this. i constantly need a "maria" in my life. just one person i could never have or really want to have but try to have and have close enough where it feels like progress and real. people aren't replaceable michelle. but i'm already looking for a replacement. i'm such an ass. i just need to know who my poems are for... that's all.

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October 24th, 2004

Subject: room.details. Time: 11:56 pm

tea bag.cookie crumbs.silver fork. chocolate wrapper.grape vines.white plate. spilled pink.upside down green.styrofoam cup.big brush. brushes.rag.paper pallete.

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